The One That Bears The Message
by Disinherited
Summary: In a laboratory, a broken hero is remade and awoken. In a world not his own, a courier is found at the heart of the Unseen Poison's billows, bearing a message. In the deep, dark space, old machines see, and listen. Art by Blank Sector.
1. Commander Jane Shepard

Shepard was drifting, but she did not know where.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick,_ went the machinery under her skin. Buzzing like a thousand locusts inside her.

All around her was not a forest but the desolation of one. The trees were few to speak of, and they sprouted sickly from the grassless soil, pale trunks charred at the top or simply dead and grey all over.

She looked at each of them once, and when she looked again, her blood chilled with horror.

Impaled on each like Dragon's Teeth were her friends and enemies. Ashley's hollow eyes tore apart her heart, and Kaidan's burning corpse dug up an old guilt she had fought to bury. But it was the sight of Garrus' limp face and dangling mandibles that almost made her scream with despair. She squeezed her eyes, shutting the tears in. _It's just a dream_, she thought, unusually lucid.

She drifted on.

Saren's corpse stared at her, and she only stared back until she passed him. There was no satisfaction to be had in beating a slave. He redeemed himself in his last moment. She remembered it, a forgiveness asked, a geyser of blood.

When she saw Haliat her restraint turned to dust, and she spat out her rage and grief on his face. Shepard reveled longingly at the sight of his agony. His guts wrapped in a spiral around the trunk that sprouted from his belly. She passed him and stopped. She didn't want to see anyone else she cared about in this horror.

She didn't want to see Anderson too.

Shepard gritted her teeth, remembered who she was, and, resolved to push forward, opened her green eyes.

The forest seemed endless, and the longer she drudged through the dream, the more the corpses she passed. Corruption flourished here, and corrupted the corpses became. She didn't know how long she wandered before their eyes became a glowing blue she had come to hate, and when out of those faces eyes hollowness peered, she felt herself become delirious. Their dead gaze burned away at her mind. The longer she went on, the more she decayed.

Shepard waded through it, however. She never knew how to do anything else.

Finally, the stretching journey rewarded her with reprieve from all the destruction. Against the pale horizon stood the silhouette of a... black tree trunk, it seemed, victimless. As she approached it, the dead behind her, balance and bearings returned to her. The blurs assimilated into focus again.

Jane Shepard froze.

_Tick. Tock. Tick,_ went the machinery under her skin.

She had seen the faces of the bodies before, even those she couldn't even recall. Friends and enemies, crewmen and soldiers – glances in the damn street.

It's how dreams worked, Shepard knew. Your mind can't make up faces. What your brain shows is always what it knows, whether or not you remember it. You _had_ seen it. Maybe the environment was an amalgamation, some twisted defamation of the backyard where you used to play in your old childhood home and the battlefield where your first kill was; but all the faces, or the masks or helmets that substituted them, was born of memory. There was the tiniest feeling of familiarity there, too, just to let you know you weren't going crazy, not really. You'd realize you were sane when you woke up.

So where was it she had seen this one?

The black figure stood in a pale-soiled clearing, the earth around it pocked with craters, filled with glowing, sickly yellow pools and green, like some demonic bastardization of chickenpox by Pestilence itself. Its helmeted head hung despondently, as if staring at the ground. The eyes were panes of glass, cold and black. From its waist down to its knees, the trenchcoat swayed.

Shepard though that was odd, because no wind blew here.

Like the figure wasn't really here. Like she was back in the Normandy, in her once-last moments, her last breath torn from her lungs in the stillness of the void she once thought the galaxy had conquered.

Was it sleeping, or was this its last moments, too?

Jane Shepard did not rage, did not despair, did not resolve. She spoke with a voice resounding clearly in the world in her head that finally calmed.

"Who are you?" she called out.

It remained still.

The armored figure looked old, in design and quality both. The dust and sand clung to it like skin.

That helmet wasn't Alliance by a sight, but batarians didn't use helmets with only two eyes. Asari simply didn't use this design. The helmet was too rounded for their crests. It went without saying Turians, Krogans, Salarians, and the rest could be discounted too. No, it was a decidedly human helmet.

Why didn't that familiar feeling talk to her? She felt like she was going crazy.

Jane approached it calmly but not without caution. Dream or not, recklessness has long since been trained out of her. "Hey." As she neared, she saw him clearer. Her fingers found his chest cold and hard.

The red blinded her when his eyes flared to life in a glare. She stumbled back, and her arms came up defensively in a practiced technique. The figure's head looked up slowly.

He stared at her.

She blinked until her eyes stopped hurting. "I don't know you," she thought aloud.

_Tick. Tock,_ went the machinery under her skin.

In the blink of an eye, he pivoted and ran off into the ever-brightening horizon.

"Hey!" Her practiced legs sprang into action, and she followed. Suddenly she could feel the wind in her red hair.

It wasn't fear in his motions, but intent, as he ran for the boiling, red sun.

Soon, his form shrank in the distance and the sun swelled, until he was no more than a blot in the plasma.

"_Wait! Who are you!?_"

The sun flared so big, so bright, her words burned to ash in the air, and she had to bring her arms up to shield her eyes. They cooked protecting her face. Then she remembered where she had seen the sun.

_It's just a dream. You're not drifting in space. You're not burning._

The heat dissipates.

Shepard takes down her arms... and her eyes widen when she's not met with the Illusive Man.

She sees something beautiful. Something she knows she has never seen before, because if she had she would never have dreamed of anything else for the rest of her life.

The machinery under her skin becomes silent. She cannot feel the scars throbbing constantly anymore. Shepard takes a knee, not out of subservience but respect. In her awe, Shepard reached out a hand. But the sun behind it suddenly fades, quickly, until only two glowing, blue irises remain.

Despite everything, Shepard finds she doesn't hate them.

* * *

When she woke up, Jane was staring at the ceiling of her cabin, feeling crazy.

She stretched languidly on the bed, moaning.

_God, I needed that._ Her body was hers, but it still felt out of place. Maybe that was just her looking at her own flesh like it was Cerberus'. Stretching didn't help put her bones back right, not in the way that mattered most, but Shepard wasn't going to shirk the pleasures of a good stretch in favor of lingering on that.

She finished brushing her teeth in a broken reflection when EDI came in over the intercom to tell her they just arrived the Omega Nebula.

The crew in the mess found her in Cerberus uniform but no less the Spectre that took down Saren and saved the Citadel. They all stood before saluting, and she stopped in her stride to pivot towards them and salute back with a smile and a nod. "At ease."

Mess Sergeant Gardner's nasally voice greeted her as she placed her tray down. "Morning, Commander."

She nodded. "Mess Sergeant. What's for breakfast?" She couldn't make out a comment someone at the table made that had the rest chuckling.

"Same as you'd expect," said the Mess Sergeant. "If you find the time to get the ingredients I told you, might be I could make something more edible out of our stock."

"I'd settle for just edible, Rupert," a voice said.

Gardner gestured rudely. "Blow it out your ass."

"I would, but it's your job to clean it up, and I don't want the commander's meal ruined any more than it already is."

Shepard was stonefaced but there was the tingling of laughter in her chest. She knew better than to mess with the Mess Sergeant. Not fucking with the man who made your meal was a universal law. "I appreciate that, Hawthorne," Jane settled for saying, filling her tray. "But I'd rather my crewmen didn't blow anything out their asses outside the restroom out of pure principle."

Hawthorne gave a nod and tried not to grin at her knowing his name, like it was something special and she hadn't greeted every new crewmember and learned their names. _Another fan._

"Until we're done here in Omega," Gardner continued, "I wouldn't expect anything different from today or yesterday. At least we got apples, fresh from Earth." He said with the enthusiasm one might expect from a cubicle worker with an appropriately low salary, gesturing lazily to the three small bags. Jane took one.

"How exotic," she mocked in a friendly manner. Shepard bit down on the bag and grabbed her tray before jogging off.

"Eat with us, Commander," Goldstein called out.

She hummed in the negative. "_Need to see the doc_," she bit out.

Dr. Karin Chakwas was on her terminal when Jane came in, bagged apple dangling from between her teeth. She turned around and her eyes brightened up. "Commander Shepard."

Jane freed a hand and took the bag out of her grinning mouth. "How are you doing, Doc?"

"The best I've been for the past two years." Chakwas smiled. "Good to see you're actually coming in for your appointed check-ups now."

"Not having a geth invasion looming over you does amazing things for your schedule."

"I'm sure," she said. "I've not finished my breakfast yet. Eat with me, would you?"

"Of course." The doctor was close to Jane's heart, and she suspected they wouldn't be able to make the time for this again once her work really started.

Chakwas moved her chair over and Jane brought another, making sure she was seated so her reddened and raw left hand was facing away from the doctor. "I'll relay my findings about your scars while we do."

"Don't sugarcoat it, Doc," Jane said, overdramatically, and settled next to the doctor, and ate as she listened.

What was learned was that her scars were the result of Lazarus' being interrupted. It was intended to be fully healed by the end, but as it was, the reconstruction was incomplete. The good news was that Dr. Chakwas had no doubts she could reconstruct Shepard's herself, if given the resources, and began listing off said resources and their precise functions.

As she did this, Shepard sat in silence. Her tray was already cleaned out, halfway through the doctor's exposition. She stared at the doctor as she spoke, but she couldn't keep her mind on the subject for the life of her. She kept drifting back to her dream. Let it never be said Jane Shepard was not… followed... by the things she had seen and done. But last night was different.

"Is there something wrong, Commander?"

"Hm? Oh. No, don't worry about it. It's just…"

"…Empty?" Chakwas supplied with a knowing tone. "I understand. It's awfully hollow here compared to how it once was. I have nothing against the Cerberus crewmen, but it isn't quite the same without the others. At least Cerberus brought us Joker."

"Joy," Jane said, deadpan. "I'm pretty sure that's the equivalent of a veiled insult on the Illusive Man's part."

The doctor gave her a look, but they both relented with good-hearted chuckles.

"I've also yet to find issue with the two field operatives."

"They've been treating you good?"

"Nothing but respectful, if... haughty, Commander."

That worked up an eyebrow from the Spectre. "Lawson?"

"Yes," the doctor conceded. "Though I suspect she means no insult. It is simply her way."

Shepard nodded. "Good… I met Tali, you know."

_I'm glad you're still the one giving the orders,_ the quarian engineer had said to her, but Jane didn't miss the looks and the hesitation she was given the entire time on the colony.

"On Freedom's Progress, yes. Joker told me. Good to see she's back with her people. And as a leader, no less."

The silence came back. She didn't suffer it long.

"I'm not giving up on them," she said, resolute.

Chakwas nodded, "I know." A look was on her face, and Jane knew she meant it. That felt good.

"The Illusive Man gave me all of this." She gestured about them vaguely. "I'm going to use it to get them back and save lives, not to get him what he wants. After we're done on Omega, we're going to the Citadel. Ask around."

Chakwas smiled at hearing that. It felt good knowing Jane wasn't the only one excited by it. Unconscious or not, it felt like forever since she'd seen her friends, and right about now she could use just about every one she had.

"Maybe we'll find Garrus. I'm still curious to see the bloody swath you two will carve through the galaxy in your competition to see who can get the highest body count."

"Damn, Doc," she said, smiling. "You make us sound like sociopaths."

The doctor shrugged. "If I didn't know you two any better, I'd say you were the galactic Bonnie and Clyde without the demented romance."

"I'm totally Clyde in that relationship," was the first thing Shepard said, hearing that.

She laughed.

Jane cleared her throat softly. "No, but honestly, I expect everyone from the old crew will want some payback against the Collectors. Wouldn't be fair to keep them from getting a piece of the pie."

The doctor knew she was hiding how much she missed them, and Jane knew that she knew, but she was still thankful when she just said. "I'm sure they'll appreciate the offer. I'm anxious to see them again."

Jane leaned forward and stood up with her tray in hand. "Let me take yours."

"Thank you, Shepard. I'll see you later, yes?"

Jane nodded, and turned around, starting toward the door.

The ship shook _violently_, then, like a thresher maw had rammed into it! The world had gone dark. She quickly lost her footing and fell, the trays clattering off into the darkness. The crew murmured, Gardner demanding to know what was going on.

Jane felt a wet sensation pooling at her stomach. "_Shit!_ I got breakfast all over me! Goddammit, Joker!" She sighed, on her knees. "Hey, Doc, you mind helping me up? Follow my voice. I don't wanna walk into a wall that was an inch more inwards than the old Normandy."

"Stay where you are," Chakwas said. There were soft shifting noises from the doctor's direction. "Never had this happen before. Maybe Cerberus didn't get _everything_ right about the _SR-2_."

"They'd better. You got any clue how much they spent? I'm not getting spaced again unless a whole reaper armada comes after me this time. If it happens because of one loose bolt, I'm gonna be pissed."

Chakwas made an amused noise in the dark. "I'm almost by you." Indeed, her voice was getting louder.

"You can see me? It's pitch black! I can't see my own nose." Shepard wondered, did the doc get new ocular implants? She is a medic, so it wasn't out of the question.

"I can see your scars glowing."

"…Oh." She liked that answer decidedly less than what she expected.

She heard the doc's steps get closer. It was then that the lights came on.

"Sorry, Commander," came Joker's voice over the intercom. "It's… Jesus, there was some big spike in our energy reading, but then it knocked our whole system out."

"_I should knock _your _systems out,_" she grumbled not-seriously within the doc's earshot as she wiped the breakfast off her uniform. She managed only to spread it around. "The reading knocked us out?" she asked aloud as Dr. Chakwas helped her to her feet.

"Readings are analytical data," came EDI's voice, "As such, only energy itself can knock out our systems, not the rea–"

Joker interrupted the rival A.I. "Yeah, I think that's the bad joke, EDI. And a side note, she knows water can't actually be wet."

"Noted," said the AI, but no one could tell if it was joking.

She called EDI a rival, but really it's just Joker being hounded constantly by the regulations-adhering construct. But then again, maybe Joker was onto something; it _was_ created by the Illusive Man.

_And so am I,_ she remembered suddenly.

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

"Shepard!" exclaimed the doctor's voice. Jane was knocked out of her thoughts. She felt the Doc's shock after she heard it, for Chakwas held the soldier's hand and ran her fingers over the red and rough knuckles. "What happened?"

"Accident," she said, yanking her hand away. "Nothing big."

"Your fist looks like you punched a brick wall, Commander."

"I've punched worse. Look, doc, I know I died, but let's not get hung up on every scrape and bruise, alright? Something tells me I got worse things coming with the Collectors."

Chakwas looked astonished by what she said, but she seemed to remember who she was speaking with and saved her breath. She'd have to content herself with Shepard not missing every appointment anymore.

If it lasted.

"Very well. At least let me patch-"

"That's not all, Commander," Joker interrupted. "We _saw_ the energy spike. Don't ask over the intercom, just come here. You'll see for yourself."

Shepard shrugged, "No time," and quickly jogged off to the elevator, where Miranda found her on the opposite side, startled.

"Commander," she exclaimed, then quickly recovered.

"Joker says he's got something important."

Miranda nodded and entered the elevator alongside her. "I know, EDI sent me an alert. Too bloody early for that."

"Whatever it is, we'll handle it."

"Of course," Miranda said, more practiced than genuine.

Jane leaned back, impatiently crossing her arms. Shepard let her eyes roam over the Cerberus operative's curves hugged by the skin-tight outfit, and shook her head. It was as pleasing to the eyes as skin-tight suits came, but the whole team could end up regretting her not wearing anything more dense if her barriers dropped.

The door opened and both women strode out, cresting the hallways back towards the Normandy's helm. They found Jacob Taylor just ahead of them on the way. He gave a walking salute. "Commander."

She returned it.

"Any idea what's going on?" Shepard asked.

"If Miranda hasn't been told, I sure wouldn't be," Jacob said.

"Whatever it is," Miranda said, "we're about to find out."

"Did you fall on something, Commander," Jacob asked, eyeing her front for just a second too long.

"Take a vid, Taylor, it'll last longer."

The operative's eyes widened and he quickly apologized, eyes forward.

_He's a bit easy to shy away from teasing._

Miranda glanced at Shepard with a smirk, and got a playful wink in response. Other than that twitch of her eyebrow, the commander was otherwise stone-faced.

Shepard arrived at the helm and approached behind the pilot's flank as the two operatives spread out on opposite sides like pincers. "Joker, gimme a sitrep."

The chair swiveled around. "In short: Big, Effin', Explosion." The pilot pointed off into the deep space, at 11 o'clock. "There was some anomalous readings at first, but before Skynet here could so much as binary it into something comprehensible, a mini supernova went off."

Indeed, something had combusted where Joker pointed. Because as EDI corrected Joker on his erroneous use of the verb "Binarying," Jane leaned forward and looked up. In the deep dark of space, white wisps of energy billowed outwards like waves, moving and looking the way light danced and glittered in clear water. It was a rather beautiful sight. These waves were faint, but there. Only thanks to the abyssal background the deep-space void provided could they see it.

"What is that, EDI?" Miranda asked.

"My readings show an unusual amount of radiation pulsing out, but not enough so as to penetrate the insulation of standard issue armor. Shepard's N7 will be more than enough; however, you will have to put one on if you intend to leave the ship, Operative Lawson. The source of the energy burst will most likely be in the center, damaged if not destroyed."

Shepard was amused at the thought of the AI unintentionally mocking Miranda's choice of clothing, but quickly shook her head by what followed. "I want to see what's going on, but there's no need to get out ourselves. For now, we just need info. If it knocked out our whole system, even for a moment, I don't want to pass it by without knowing it doesn't happen again or doesn't get worse for some other poor schmuck that can't get a ship with good radiation shielding."

"Then the Normandy and its shuttles should have no problem whatsoever," EDI said.

"Good." She gently clapped a hand on Joker's shoulder. "Get us up close, Joker."

"Aye, aye, Commander."

The Normandy hummed in a familiar, comforting way as it took them closer to the waves. When the celestial wisps faded entirely from the naked eye, Joker swept up a holo mapping the surrounding area with a blip indicating their location, and the source of the energy spike in the middle. The pilot glanced at it occasionally as he flew until EDI assured him she'd keep them on course. "I didn't become a pilot so that the autopilot could take over, y'know, the actual _flying_ part," Joker said.

They neared the source, and before long they glimpsed small things scattered around it.

"What is that, a debris field?" Taylor asked.

"Look more like a crumb field to me," Joker quipped, and Shepard had to agree.

"Too small to be a pieces of a ship," she said. "Unless it was a bomb big enough to shatter it into tiny pieces." Her voice wasn't serious, saying that, and no one was worried. Everyone there knew enough that they'd have been alerted if it was a bomb _and_ being aimed at them.

Taylor shrugged. "What if it's pieces of the bomb itself?"

"Would it be big enough for the readings you got?" she asked.

Joker sighed, and Shepard had a notion as to why. "No. _EDI_?" he asked, reluctantly

"Discounting disintegration of what would have to be a suspiciously significant amount of debris considering the type of energy, no, it would not amount to that explosion with the amount of pieces I am currently picking up on the Normandy's sensors."

Almost interrupting, Miranda made her voice known. "I also wouldn't discount government secrets. Who knows what tech they're hiding?"

"Who? Let me guess, alien governments?" When Miranda stayed quiet, Shepard tried not to scoff. "What, you think _those darn aliens_ did this?" she said with a southern US drawl, shaking a fist. Joker hid his laughter with a cough and his eyes with his cap.

"Or the Alliance," Miranda said, coldly.

"Or Cerberus," Shepard shot back, earnestly, not provocatively.

"Or," Jacob interjected, "It's the obvious answer: Omega testing out new hardware."

Joker jabbed a thumb towards the Cerberus op before continuing to maneuver around even the smallest visible debris. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna go with the infamously criminal and generally lawless station's working, anarchist government testing out bombs in the dark space of their own sector. Just, y'know, going out on a limb."

"If you went out on a limb, you'd break it," Shepard quipped, faking annoyance at him. The pilot grinned. "But, I _guess_ that explanation holds some merit."

"No government would risk a war with Omega, Alien or Alliance," Miranda conceded, reluctantly. Whether because of xenophobia or because she just didn't like admitting she might have been wrong, Shepard couldn't tell. She didn't know her well enough. "The entire Terminus System might take the opportunity to fatten the market with more loot and slaves."

"And Cerberus wouldn't have a reason to test it in range of the station's sensors," Jacob pointed out, before he added, "I'm guessing we _are_ in their sensor range?"

EDI piped up. "You are correct, Operative Taylor."

"Thanks, EDI."

"Of course. Commander Shepard."

"Yes, EDI?" Shepard said.

"As I was going to say before Operative Lawson unknowingly interrupted me, there is a transmission from the center of the blast."

That surprised her, and looking around the revelation had a similar effect resounding in the helm. "So what are you waiting for? Bring it up."

"I was waiting for your discussion to end."

"How polite," she snarked, not rudely.

"Commander, the transmission is in morse code." Shepard's interest was piqued.

"So definitely human. Thanks for helping me win the bet, EDI."

"What bet?" Jacob asked.

"The one I made in my head, now pay up." She jokingly held out her hands to both operatives. Miranda shook her head, and Jacob snorted.

She let her hands fall down. "Alright, bring it up."

An orange box appeared and the sound system sounded the code into the cockpit. It was lengthy, and had Jane wondering if it was on repeat, but as soon as it finished EDI brought up an appropriately lengthy translation.

**Who are you that do not know your history?**

Everyone stared at it, but no one said anything for a short while.

"Sounds like a quote," Taylor pointed out.

"I have already searched the extranet," EDI said "There was no match for anything human. I will search forums used by all species now. Also, during that transmission, my sensors picked up a lifeform in area around the blast."

The cockpit became frozen in silence. Everyone was too shocked to speak, but their mouths were wide agape. Even Joker looked up at the debris field through the windows overhead.

"You mean like, a _whole_ human? Unharmed?" Joker asked.

The shock dissipated for a moment as Shepard realized the error of her possible presumption –the AI probably meant there was batarian paté to be had in the middle – until EDI answered.

"Unscathed."

Nevermind. Fair enough.

Shepard looked at the holomap on Joker's dashboard, then glanced up, and deduced that the thick bunch of debris in the distance was the center. The Normandy wasn't getting a close look with anything other than the sensors, and they picked up all they could.

"You got a reading on its vitals?" she asked, her finger absently running along the scar on her jaw.

"No," said EDI. "It doesn't seem to be wearing armor with a standard life-support system. But its exterior is undamaged as far as I can tell."

The decision was obvious. "Take us up close."

Shepard turned and marched out intently with the Cerberus operatives at her flanks. "I'm going out. EDI, prep a shuttle. Miranda, can you pilot the Kodiak?"

"No problems, Commander."

"Good. Jacob?"

"Ma'am."

"You know how to fly one?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Part of our training."

"Good. Stay in the hangar in case something takes out our shuttle irreparably."

For the smallest moment, she saw hesitation on his face, he wanted to protest, but quickly kept from doing so. He nodded. "Yes, Commander."

They stepped in the elevator. "If we're sitting ducks out there, you're our only way out, Taylor. The Normandy can chance it, but not without knocking into a helluva lot of debris along the way."

Jacob nodded. "You got it, Shepard."

"Alright. Go to your quarters and suit up, meet me in the hangar." The elevator closed as Jacob saluted, leaving the females together.

The Kodiak's engines were already hot when they all rendezvoused. Jane and Miranda stepped into the shuttle which closed behind them. The latter, in more clad than Shepard had ever seen her, took to the cockpit while Shepard prepped to attach her own N7 armor to the shuttle.

As Miranda lifted them off the ground and out the hangar into space, she heard cursing and unintelligible muttering behind her. "Shepard? Is there a problem?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Lawson, don't worry," she reassured without looking up from the cable she was attempting to plug into the back of her armor's according socket.

"Are you sure you don't need me to come back there?" The bitch managed to sound derisive about it, too. Just like her "Under-_stood_, Commander," when Shepard sent Veetor home with Tali against the operative's advice. But then, it wasn't impossible it was just Shepard's own frustration getting to her with this _fucking_ cable!

"_Piece of sh_– Yeah, I'm sure. The world wouldn't be ordinary if this goddamn plug worked properly."

Miranda actually chuckled. A pleasant sound. "Some things never change, even when you've been dead for two years."

_Only for the worse_, she thought bitterly, but before she could give in to her worsening mood, the plug slotted in. "A–HA!" echoed in the shuttle. "Got it."

"Good, we're coming up on the signal now."

When the shuttle door opened, she could see the curtain of shrapnel and debris. Too small for a ship indeed, but numerous enough. Still, EDI said the energy reading wouldn't be big enough. It was the nature of it that interested Shepard – knocking out a ship's systems from that distance? If not for the charred fragments, she would've guessed it was an EMP of some kind.

"Ready, Commander?" Miranda asked.

She gave the impromptu-pilot a nod, before promptly sprinting out. Before her suit recognized the mag boots as turned off and the environment as zero-gravity, she drifted again. Even caught her hand grabbing at her oxygen tube behind her neck to make sure it wasn't loose. She needed it more than ever (well maybe not _ever_) when her breathing sped up and her heart beat in her ears. She wasn't there anymore. She was on the Normandy, before she was suddenly and violently flung out. Her panicked breaths filled her helmet.

She was never as thankful for something on fire as when her armor's thrusters came online.

Her life was in her hands again. Her boots- and shoulders thrusters flared. In the debris, first she moved, trying to regain control and balance. It didn't take long before she sped up. As she flew in circles and swooped about, laughter building in her throat, Jane Shepard danced between raindrops. Her comms were off on her end, so all she had to worry about was looking stupid rather than sounding it, and since when is Commander Shepard ever ashamed of her dancing?

"Is something wrong with your thrusters, Shepard," asked Miranda who knew damn well nothing was wrong with her thrusters.

Shepard didn't hear the smile in the Cerberus woman's voice. She turned on her comms to say, "Everything is A-Okay, Lawson." Even with the shuttle's plug restricting her movements partially, she had fun dancing around. She didn't even remember her first-and-last spacing until she tried to remember what the hell made her panic.

_Alright, alright, enough messing around. Let's go see what this 'Poetry Quotes' transmission's all about,_ she thought.

Miranda hadn't dropped her far away from the signal, thus the blip was already quickly repetitive, but when she neared it further it was damn-near constant, until something finally caught her eye out of the pool of debris. Something round with points. "Found something!" she said.

"Affirmative," came EDI's voice. The blip turned off.

"It's… some kind of device. I'm gonna get closer… There, I'm holding it. EDI, how's my armor handling the radiation."

"If you remain for another two minutes and thirty seconds I would recommend decontamination and radiation treatment from Medical Officer Chakwas."

"Nothing immediate, then, good. Listen up, it's... like a ball, but – _what the hell_?"

"What's up, Commander," Joker asked. Miranda looked around trying getting a visual on her, but couldn't.

She turned it over in her hand. It was heavy. "It's rusted and got shit plastered all over it."

"Like what?"

"Like… posters. Vintage ones."

"Vintage like twenty-first-century vintage, or are we talking Marilyn Monroe?"

"Who?"

"Nevermind. What's the poster of?"

"It says… Hold on." She gave a grunt as she tried to scrub away the dirt. "Uh… It says… 'My child is an honor student at Roosevelt Academy'. EDI?"

The AI piped up. "There was once a Roosevelt High School on Earth in the twenty-first century, but has since been disbanded. I recommend bringing it back for radiocarbon dating of organic residue on the device. We may or may not find out its actual age."

Shepard shrugged. It knew more about this than she did. "You got it, EDI."

As soon as her affirmation was spoken, EDI piped up again. "Commander Shepard."

"Yeah, EDI?" Shepard said.

"The device in your hand is sending two more transmission," EDI explained. "One is another morse code message, and the other has activated a transponder nearby."

"What's the message?" she asked, staring at the device that didn't seem to show signs of change despite what the AI was telling her.

"Help him."

The tension thickened even in the vacuum of space.

The antenna-sporting ball stop turning in her hands. Shepard looked at it cautiously. "Automated message, or AI?" She already had one created by the terrorist organization she had the worst track record with out of all the terrorist organizations inside her damn ship. She didn't need one from an organization with an affinity for radiation bombs.

"Unknown," EDI answered.

Shepard didn't know what to make of this.

"Commander, the transponder has helped to pinpoint the lifeform's exact location. Uploading. It wants us to help whomever the transponder belongs to."

Another blip entered her radar, this one even more constant than this rotund device's had initially been.

She quickly fired herself back into shuttle and strapped it in one of the seats before leaping back into the void. This time she had to shift through the field, pushing shrapnel and kicking off of debris to get them out of the way. "Still looking, but it feels like I've got tinnitus with this goddamn radar, so I must be getting close. Let's... see... Aha! I see a leg! My Geiger Counter's going haywire." Her thrusters flared and she flew closer. " Here's hoping this one's armor is standard enough for radiation shielding if not for a life-support system."

Joker's voice resounded eerily-serene in her helmet, mocking the Hanar's way of speech. "This one can feel its super-powers developing. This one predicts a second phallus growing."

Shepard laughed. "You are _vile_, you know that? I'm telling Chakwas." Just as Joker was about to continue, she yelled not-harshly into her helmet's mic. "Stop clogging up the comms, Joker!"

"Alright, _fine_." Despite his tone, she could hear the mirth. "This one will keep his quips to himself. Just one last thing, Commander. What do you call it a hanar with a tendency to smash blueberries?"

There was a silence on the comms. Jacob sat unimpressed in the cockpit of his own Kodiak, and Miranda shut off all transmissions from the pilot. "Come on, Commander, humor me."

Silence again.

"Commander?"

Shepard was staring. She heard Joker's voice, but it was background noise. Her ears were dead, her smell was dead, her touch was dead. Only her eyes were alive. Her mind focused, trying frenziedly to make sense of what she was staring at.

She stared at eyes cold and black, and made of panes of glass.

* * *

**As much as I hate the way Author's Notes take you out of a story, especially with my idiotic and jarring humor mixed in, I feel the need to mention some things. **

**What it do, folks? ****This story's concept has been in my head for years, and it was heavily influenced by (damn-near co-birthed by) New Beginnings by Eagle9177, the Star Wars crossover. Granted, she deleted the original with male Revan and I haven't read the new version with a female Revan (and probably won't, because of how jarring it feels to rule 63 my boy like that, but hey, to each their own), but the story nonetheless gave me an idea of a similar situation with another RPG character. Then I remember my #1 RPG of ALL TIME.**

**Fallout 76.**

**...**

**That was a joke. New Vegas all the way. Don't at me, Todd.**

**In any case, I hope you enjoyed this. Be sure to leave reviews and give your thoughts. Preferably positive ones, unless it's criticism I can actually improve my writing and storytelling with, but I consider useful criticism positive anyway.**

**Next chapter is the Courier's introduction.**


	2. Courier Six

There was a light pulsating behind his closed eyelids; green, like plasma. It didn't burn or melt. It was… warm, like Arizona's oases, and assuaged the burning pain poured through his body like molten blood.

The green slowly dissipated, to a faint glow at first, then entirely.

It became darker than black.

He had to blink many times to realize that his eyes were open.

He was in a void cold and burning.

And how his body burned when he moved.

Wait… He was moving?

No, he realized; he was drifting lost…

And… tired… So tired…

Something floated into his view, so slowly that his eyelids grew heavy once more.

"ED-E," he whispered when he saw him, hoping the Eyebot had made it out of the charred shell that was lulling him to sleep with its floating.

Then... he saw nothing.

No. Not nothing. Something, but faint.

* * *

He heard it first. He remembered. The rattling against his black shell.

The desert storm couldn't touch him in his armor, no matter its howling in his helmeted ears.

These winds were notoriously cruel, almost as vicious to unprotected eyes as the Divide's storms were to even protected flesh, but still they parted behind his prey where he stalked them, one with the storm and yet not; his unseen form deceiving an unknowing with the promise of deliverance.

A false eye of the storm where no reprieve would be had but the last one.

Sands was flung at his invisibility like shotgun bucks. Behind them the sand dipped where he plunged his boots, and sunk in small avalanches when he pulled out. His feet were more trained to this terrain than them, however. He was not concerned.

The only kindness the storm had done them was to hide their tracks, but he had scarcely needed those when in close proximity to his prey since Arcade installed in him an implant of the Nevada Project. Even would he have been without his customized helmet, his bionic-eyes implant would find their heat. If the warmth would have left their bodies, then their electric signatures would do.

The false eye crested a dune crowned with cacti; atop, he glimpsed their body heat past the swirling, blinding sand. Some looked like golden coins in the distance, others like golden fruits.

His mouth watered, his hand twitched toward the agave fruit pocketed by his waist, but he swallowed his thirst.

If he took off his helmet, he would drink more sand than juice. He instead let that hunger turn to his prey.

Descending, the storm worsened around him, until it felt like his trenchcoat would tear off at his shoulders, and then it worsened some more.

That was good. He'd catch up to them even quicker. A survivor of America's elements once, he was now a bulwark in armor. Some days he felt as if it made him soft, so he would simply take the duster and breather, and set out.

He chanced no such thing today. Soft or not, he would bring ruthless, cruel deaths to Caesar's dregs. If they had stayed east of the river, he would have been forced to remain, care for New Vegas. He could have lived with that.

But these ones had to be brave, even as the rest of the Legion crumbled.

The Vengeance of Caesar, they named themselves to the sole survivor of their one successful attack west of the Colorado River. He harrumphed as he heard it. Couldn't even come up with a good name. _They should have followed their master. Could have made their own deaths painless. Suicide would've been too good for them, but an option nonetheless. _

Instead they came to New Vegas. Murdering and pillaging anew.

Even remaining NCR citizens were targeted. And for what? Vengeance? Were they so broken they loved the man who tore them from their mothers and shackled their sisters? They claimed it was sacrifice for _the God of Caesar_.

House was right, and he never doubted him. They had deified Edward Sallow. Made of flesh and bone a god.

Even so, these delusions didn't change that they were not legionaries; they were beaten dogs lashing out.

As he neared, the coins and fruits grew into torsos, and the torsos grew golden limbs and heads. Begging to be used as practice, like a gun-range piñata with the promise of fortune if you hit your target.

The sand ground and scrunched against the false eye, and the sound came through the helmet and its speakers. He fingered the antenna device at his temple and turned the latter off, while they struggled and finally dropped their spears to shield their ears.

Soon he was upon them. He had set his helmet's red glare to shine through the sand, even the cloaking. So when one glanced back, he did a double take.

The yell could not have alerted them, if he even had the time to. He had not so much as let go of his ears before the medicine stick was shouldered and aimed.

Eyes peer through the ring and along the barrel to the sight. A squeeze, that may as well have been a giant's finger squeezing around the legionary's neck, pops the recruit's head.

A charge of blood and brain and bone splattered the rest of the contubernium. Then the hands which covered what were once ears dropped with the rest of the corpse to the ground.

The barrel lowers. Red eyes stare. The veteran furthest back falls screaming as shrapnel of bone pierces his back, the centurion in the middle reaches up to his oddly warm and wet neck to find a chunk of brain, and the leading decanus plods on as his skin begins to burn raw from the vicious sand, unaware.

The barrel rears again, a breath is held and then released. Fire, muffled to both sight and sound, flares in the storm, and a bullet pierces through into the fallen one's kneecap. This time they hear the veteran's screams. The storm could not hold that agony.

When they turn around, their horrified gazes freeze at one collective point.

Two beams, red, cruel, shine through the storm, just for a moment, before they dissolve with the sands.

The centurion runs to his soldier screaming and flailing in the sand. Blood pours from the crater-once-a-knee. He knows what must be done when he notices only thin muscle is holding the leg together. Even the bone is shattered. The sand reddens as it begins to soak up the veteran's life.

The centurion called for the decanus, but only the storm howled in answer.

He turned and saw that the fourth would not move, frozen with fear.

He was ready to pummel the weakling with his powerfist, but when he saw a pair of red eyes right above the decanus' shoulder, he realized different.

The body collapsed, but the head remained where the invisible hand gripped it by its feathers. Only when it was flung and landed at his feet did the eyes twitch shut again.

_We almost had_ you! he wanted to scream._ Why did you catch up now!? Fucking storm. Only a little longer. We'd have had you, you profligate whore. The God would have had you!_

Only if they continued on. But... he couldn't, not while the last of this contubernium laid at his feet, helpless.

He took out his machete. The rusted blade was ruthless sliding across the wounded one's throat, and necessary.

The centurion promptly stumbled to his feet and trekked as far as he could, even as his boot was soaked with his soldier's blood.

He was being toyed with, he knew. But then, they all knew. They counted on it.

Every second he thought the whore's cruelty would end, that he would have his fun and end the centurion, but it never happened.

The centurion knew his fortunes had truly turned when he saw the sand and wind part to make a space in the distance. The sand had blinded him for a while, but he saw the haven clearly, as if Caesar's spirit itself was guiding his path. And when he saw the pillar of the pre-war billboard with the bull painted on it, he knew it was time, and he could laugh!

He had made it to the safe haven, to the eye of the storm, while his brothers in waiting would kill the whore that had hunted them…!

_…If only it had helped_, he thought, as he felt his body clamp down in shock. It was all he could think when the safe haven, where the wind and sand parted, was so close he could kiss it, opened its red eyes. _If only it had helped,_ he thought, as a body grew into shape around the eyes, from helmet down to boots. _If only it had helped, _he thought, as a warm sensation ran from his chest down along his leg like a river, and the whore held up a red, hard tongue in front of his face.

A tongue that was dripping, and shaped, oddly, like a gladius.

_Oh._

The helmet fell to the side. Then, the ground that came up to kiss his head like a hammer.

I _fell_, he realized.

But he did not weep with fear. He would not suffer as his brothers did. He knew this, even as an armored, black boot stomped the ground inches in front of his head. For he saw the storm dissipate ever so faintly, and the sands shift.

Breathing masks on long-buried mouths and sandstorm glasses that had peered out of the ground for hours, waiting, came out of their graves.

The waiting was over. When his brothers rose from the desert and started firing – why, he could almost laugh, if not for the blood that filled his throat.

The last the smiling legionary saw was an energy grenade land right by him, in a pool of the whore's blood.

Finally, his life left him.

And so, after bellows and commands and fire bounced and bounded all around in the dying storm, more of each began to fade away into silence, until finally silence was all that was left.

When the storm had passed and the dust had settled, and blood and gore littered the base of the billboard, only the Courier was left standing.

_Clever little trick. Too clever_, he knew, when he felt a pain he hadn't felt in a _long_ time.

He didn't need to look down to see the extent of his damages – his helmet already displayed everything he needed to know – but he was never one for averting his eyes. And he did not avert them this time.

A pained grunt escaped him, seeing the craters their guns had melted into his armor. It was almost as bad as feeling it.

What a hailstorm of fire and energy he trapped himself betwixt in his hate. Like a damn idiot.

But their guns… they had been too strong for Legion standard.

The legionaries fought too strongly, fanatically. As though Caesar yet breathed. Like their spirits were mended after their master's death broke them.

And they knew he would let down his guard just to make a savagery of their deaths. They exploited it, his hate.

Every strength they could have had, they had, and every opportunity and weakness the Courier could have bared, he bared, and suffered every reprisal for it.

_Goddamn you,_ he cursed himself._ You couldn't let go. Now everyone else might pay the price. God-fucking-damn you._

But… they shouldn't have been so well-armed. This was high-level Gunrunner hardware, energy weapons like he'd never seen before. Where could they possibly have found the caps? Or the schematics?

_Someone supplied them,_ he realized. But the Gunrunners and New Vegas were making fortunes off each other. _Someone else gave them all this._

With all the enemies he had made over the years, the Courier knew he would have to spend a long, _long_ time going over the list of suspects.

In all of this, he lamented and thanked his riot armor. It was ruined, but also the only reason he stood while all around him this piece of the Nevada desert was littered with limbs and organs and Legion paste. But, he knew, it could not help him any further.

He was losing a lot of blood. He would survive, he knew, but he could not afford to let the implants and the tumor take care of it. He had too much to lose for such a fruitless risk.

Sighing, he brought a finger to the side of his head and pressed down.

"ED-E," he said. "I… I think I made a mistake… Underestimated… the risks… Variables I didn't know about…" He stopped and took a deep, burning breath. "I don't think I'm going to come back as decisive a victor as I thought." Blood and pus began pouring from the grotesquerie that was his torso and armor fused together underneath the chassis. "I think, I'm… going to need more than stimpaks. What I've got will keep me alive, but… you need to get here. Transmitting my coordinates."

He transmitted, and pulled out a stimpak. The armor had slots precisely for this, at the most effective locations in the body. He slipped the needle in expertly, and let out a breath, before tossing it aside. The helmet showed his vitals stabilizing.

He shambled up the hill where the hardest-hitting flank had jumped out of like specters in the sands. His hands ably scoured their pockets for loot.

For the first time, he felt unease, like he was being watched by something out of place. Something he was missing. He was not ashamed for being watched, of doing what it takes to survive; rather, his instincts and ability as a hunter were refined, and no self-respecting one would ever suffer this disadvantage. But as he looked all around him, the only eyes watching him were dead.

He came upon the fourth centurion corpse, _discounting_ the one he had been hunting all along. _I am almost flattered_, he thought. Four centurions were rare after Caesar, and losing them would be devastating. Even with numerous holes punched into his body and fragments of his armor stuck burning hot inside of him, he smiled, as much as his cheeks would allow.

His hands ran up and down the corpse's sides, and it was then that the Courier noticed the why of something feeling out of place. Of course.

Hindsight brought nothing if not clarity.

Centurions _never_ wore sandstorm glasses before. They always wanted their legionaries and foes to see their eyes, and know what awaited them, if by failure in battle, or by being their enemy.

But these ones waited in the sand in ambush. Of course they'd need glasses.

The Courier felt silly, but even the knowing did not make the feeling go away. So he grabbed the glasses and tore it right off the head.

Suppressing a gasp of surprise, he leapt to his feet, hand reaching for the revolver.

Peering out of the feather-helmeted head of the slain centurion were blue, glowing eyes.

It looked as if it had begun to spread to the rest of his face, like a disease, before the Courier had done him a kindness and blew off the dreg's arm and legs. Around the blue of the disease, the flesh looked sickly and black.

Somehow, the eyes looked more hollow than any other dead he had seen.

Quickly, almost frantically, he tore glasses off what heads were still whole, and every one revealed a pair of deathly blue eyes.

"What is this?" he couldn't help but ask aloud.

Distant shouts sounded then.

It was not backup, as it did not come from whence he hunted. He forced his burning legs to carry him further up the dune, as his knees supported his lowered form, and the nano-cloaking swept his body into no-sight.

His keen eyes spotted them, and his helmet carried his sight further, scoping into the distance.

He could not guarantee the masked decani's, but every other bare-faced legionary carried the disease. Their fanatical spirit could be felt even from this distance. _Pumped themselves full of chems, finally? Who else would, but the broken and the lowly?_

He looked upon each of their blue disease, and their blood-thirsted zeal, and thought, _Let them come. They'll die or they'll break. Either end will be deserved._

Quickly, he slid down and flung mines like discs across the blind side of dune, where they would surprise the legionaries.

Weathering wounds was nothing new, but this weaponry had burned even his customized armor into him, and moving with metal fused into him was a new agony.

He thought of being worthy of, and making proud, a friend, whose body was burned absolutely and had survived because of family.

Then, he thought of his own motley family.

And so, he endured this new agony all the same, as he had endured every other that came before.

As the Courier edged low and cloaked beside the billboard's pillar, he shouldered his medicine stick; thus the lion waited as the antelopes charged bravely, idiotically, into its den.

Their crazed hollering like auguries of their arrivals swept up the other side of the dune and down his, carried along with the boiling, arid wind.

A feathered black and red blot, tiny in the distance, appeared just where he had set his sight. Legion colors. A good distance away. But not too far.

While training would guide him, his cybernetically-enhanced, instinctually-induced reactions possessed him.

_Deep breath, squeeze. Black and red bursts into spouts of only red and bone. _

Lever's pulled down, up.

_Smoking casing flies out medicine stick. Two more appear. Barrel sweep to the side, finger squeezes._

Lever's pulled down, up.

_Casing flies out, barrel sweeps in other direction, finger squeezes._

Lever's pulled down, up.

_Smoke dancing seductively from barrel. La Petite Mort. One more blot appears, two, three four six nine fifteen – many more, waves. _

_Wait... Wait... Wait..._

He waits, and in hazing fervor their left side runs face first into a trio of mines which spiral, rattling up out of the sand in small dust devils. They explode, shattering unprotected ears, and flinging out shrapnel and meat and bone.

_Three screaming; got lucky, only three hit by stray shrapnel; rest scramble to stop, but downhill, stumble, fall. Barrel finds black and red, blue eyes, sports gear from second wave. Squeeze; hole punches into the chest, cavity in the back. Red mist left in falling corpse's wake._

Lever's pulled down, up.

_The rest of the mines trigger, one after another. A storm of dust and blood is left. Smokescreen. Second wave charges blind. Redundant lack of vision with my nano-cloaking. _

_Idiots. _

_Left hand leaves barrel, autonomous, presses temple of helmet. Electromagnetic vision sweeps over the world, bright and sterile. Black-and-red becomes silver-and-white. Barrel finds one, finger squeezes, kisses hateful goodbye with .45-70 Govt. Silver-and-white elbow scatter into chunks and pieces. _

_Shock or blood-loss will do for him._

Lever's pulled down, up.

_Starts down the row, finds the one left of previous target, squeeze._

Lever's pulled down, up.

_Last bullet, know it. Won't matter which is next, all dead by end of day, or week. _

_Second wave comes out of smokescreen. Barrel chooses next down the row. Squeeze. Silver-and-white bursts into white mist._

Lever's pulled down, up.

He tilts the rifle to the side, and slides in one two three four five six

_Next_ _in row's given new hole in head, falls back dead. Wait. _

_Not finished reload, but_ that's not possible, the Courier realizes. Finally, he lets out a single breath, and with it the cold death possessing him. His instinct calms, remaining, but not possessing. He slides the seventh, eight into the slot and pulls the lever down, and up.

_Then_ the distant sniper's crack reached his ears.

He knew he was still cloaked, so he calmly turned. His helmet scoped into the distance, and the Courier smiled.

_The Last Thing You Never See_, he read.

The remnants of the battered and dusty second wave mistook the sniper's position for his, and quickly turned.

Idiots twice over.

More fell to the sands below the bolt-action sniper's scope, though more slowly.

When they finally used their brains against the zeal that screamed at them to charge forth like mad dogs, and leapt into cover behind small dunes, the Courier reared the medicine stick.

Behind them the lever pumped out smoking ruthless deaths that didn't care if they maimed or agonized – in fact, cherished it – and before them the bolt loaded in swift ones whose purpose was to cleanse the wasteland of suffering and filth.

Back and forth in a gory, glorious shower, blood sprayed with every shot.

When the last gunfire echoed in the desert half-bowl the Courier stood in, diseased, sizzling lives ran in red rivers, and soaked into the baking sands. And so, finally, the legionaries repaid the land they had terrorized and tormented, if not the people in them.

The Courier looked to the top of the dune. He didn't need to zoom in to see him; from the dune's summit the figure stood, shouldered his rifle, and sent a curt wave-and-salute gesture.

The Courier ran to him.

"Always picking off my targets," the Courier said, arriving at the top, "even when you're not travelling with me. When will I ever be rid of your bullshit?"

"Life finds a way," he said. Shaded eyes looked over the massacre. "Death too, looks like."

He smiled beneath his helmet, which still made his cheek feel odd. "It's good to see you, Boone." He held out an arm, and as soon as it was taken he pulled his friend into an embrace. Even painful, he didn't regret it.

It was always fun to see Boone squirm.

"Uh… Good, to see you too," Boone said, awkwardly.

He pulled away, and let out a pained sigh as the sniper let out one of relief, before running his gaze up and down the Courier's form. His eyebrows rose over the brim of his sunglasses. "Goddamn. What the hell happened?"

That perplexed the Courier. He had to say, "You've seen me in far worse shape."

"For a reason," Boone pointed out.

And the Courier had to concede, the last time Boone had seen him this way, their assault on the Fort left his left foot connected to his lower leg by a single tendon and his skeleton. He had no innate healing to save his life then, but they had Arcade waiting on the other end of the river.

"No reason you should be looking like this," Boone said. "This was supposed to be a gecko hunt."

So ED-E had managed to get the transmission to him. The sniper shouldn't have known about the mission otherwise.

"How did they manage this?"

"Surprised me. Different resolve in them… buried and burned themselves under the goddamn desert. Came along and they jumped out all around me, guns blazing…" The pain was becoming graver, but even then he would handle it. He was never taught how not to. "Someone supplied them… with weaponry. High-tech, high-end… Something else, too, something… off… about them."

"Their faces? The blue stuff?"

The Courier nodded, relieved he didn't have to explain. The explanation would be a painful one to utter.

"I froze at first when I saw 'em through the scope. Radiation?"

The Courier froze for a moment –the tautness of a shock, a pain, that gripped his muscles, not unlike electricity – before shaking his head. "Could be chems supplied alongside the weaponry. Someone out to get me."

"When are people not? But chems?"

"I know, not like them, but… neither is energy weaponry."

Boone said nothing, but he knew the silence was meant to be conceding.

The Courier had considered radiation, discounted the coloring; a mutation's color didn't matter, even if the radioactive waste that caused them glowed green. The mutation was as likely to turn out pink. Color was irrelevant.

But it had _felt_ sinister, like something truly, inherently evil was wrought inside the legionaries' heads.

Worse than even a ruthless tumor. That does what it was made to do. No mistakes, and no ill-intent. Deadly, yes, and without morality; it'd kill a child as soon as an elder. But that only enforced its lack of morality.

Evil was precisely what the Courier could feel peering out of the hollowness of those eyes.

Something, or maybe someone, saw him through them, even if the corpse they were attached to didn't. And it felt as though it was disappointed at his living. _That_ was the mistake it made, its ill-intent, the evil.

He couldn't help but think back to tales from his childhood, of heroes in the light and monsters in the dark.

"Got you spooked, huh?" said Boone, taking the Courier immediately out of his… haunting.

And he was thankful for it. Those fairy-tales had a wont to set his imagination alight, both the good sort and the bad. What he saw in those pestilent eyes was unknown, and the unknown could shake even the bravest. He just had to realize that it was no more than thus and move past it, adapt as he always had.

"Me too," the sniper confessed. "But don't stay with it. There may be more on the way."

He looked out to the Colorado River's direction. "Only if they decide to go all out." He glanced at Boone. "Would they risk destroying the entirety of the Legion just have a shot at killing me?"

As soon as the last word left him, he felt stupid, as Boone made a show of giving his wounded form another once-over.

"If they're smart enough to realize they'll never get any stronger, they'll go all out. No backpedaling, not for them. Not anymore. You're worse than their battles of Hoover Dam. If they can't get you now, they won't ever."

They both knew that's what the Legion would do, he did not doubt. Their weakness and their strength was always their stubborn fervor.

"I think they… they were brainwashed. Like lobotomites."

Boone gave him a subtle, confused look.

"Back in Big Mountain," he elaborated. "Their behavior's too erratic… Like they think they know their minds, but they don't, not really…" He sighed as if it would alleviate the pain. "Hard to explain…"

"No, I think I know what you mean." Boone was, admittedly, often more understanding than he gave him credit for. "But, you're saying the Think Tank did this?"

"Absolutely not… They're too loyal, have too much purpose… Besides, only superficial similarities." He took a deep breath, stood straight. "Something worse. An unknown."

If this had been the first time he met Boone, if the Courier didn't come to know him as well as he did, he never would have believed that tiny pull in the corner of the sniper's lips could be a smile.

"Not for long," the sniper said, "Not anymore."

It'd be a lie to say he didn't find his friend's faith heartwarming and encouraging.

Distant howls and hollering of human beasts quickly chilled that warmth dead in his chest.

"Fucking dregs," he growled painfully, and gripped the medicine stick tightly. "ED-E sent you my way?"

"Yeah, sent your whole message." They both lowered into crawling positions, and took aim. "And before you ask, we already got reinforcements coming."

"Who?" Boone's presence had been a welcome one as well as a surprise, but he didn't bet on any other friend being nearby. Cass, Arcade, and Lily were out of the question. Their residence in the Lucky 38 was a fact. Maybe Raul.

"We're minutes away from a couple of Securitrons and an Eyebot," Boone said.

"And ED-E won't miss the chance to jump into it," the Courier said, sighing silently.

"After that message, how couldn't it be scared?" He was given a sideways glance. "For good reason. You're gonna need surgery to get that armor off."

He grunted in annoyance._ I will, won't I?_

His Pip-Boy woke up. The Courier looked at it.

"How long?" asked Boone.

"Three minutes at most."

Boone was thoughtful for a moment. "Might not have three minutes."

The Courier laughed a genuinely amused laugh, even through the pain of it.

"We have all the time in the world."

There was a silence in which he didn't face Boone. "Fair enough."

The metal of Boone's bolt echoed and clicked as he loaded in a bullet.

The Courier had already levered in a round so he couldn't make it a dramatic duo show.

Then, they waited a long time – an almost encouragingly long time.

When the third wave came into sight they held their fire, but not for tactic's sake. Out of shock.

It was a _horde_ of blue-diseased legionaries (could they even be called that anymore?), shadows of the soldiers they once were, screaming forth in a shadow of the trained formations they once charged proudly in, but there were five times as many in this one wave as the last two put together. It seemed they would indeed be going all out.

_Impossible… How did they get past the border_? What he was seeing screaming and howling his direction like a thousand, braying feral ghouls should never have been. They should never have been able to get past the securitrons. The screams – an eldritch cacophony only the most depraved nightmare could conjure and inflict upon living men.

And all for him. This… was not war. This was an assassination attempt. The army wasn't here to fight another, but to fight the Courier. And they had done the impossible to get here.

They should _never_ have been able to get past the securitrons.

He scowled. _So be it._

The medicine stick reared, and eyes peered down the sights. "Hold…"

The horde tracked them by the trail of carnage and gore. He knew then that by day's end, the land would be more than repaid for the cruelties inflicted upon it. It would be baptized again.

"Hold…"

The horde was deafening.

"Hold…"

"_Goddammit, what're you doing_?" Boone whispered, but held.

One. Two. Three. Four–

He jumped to his feet and brought the Pip-Boy to his mask. "Mortar on my position, _NOW_!" He grabbed Boone's shoulder, "JUMP!" and flung both of them down as distant whistling neared.

Sand sprayed as the airborne hell came raining down.

_BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

The rapid explosions silenced much of the howling, and set off a new dissonance of screams to join it. Limbs and organs landed around them as they stood from the base of the dune.

He shifted to EM Vision and they swiveled.

He bellowed "Fire!"

This massacre was worse than the last, for _them_. They returned a fire unlike any Boone had seen but the Courier had become all too familiar with, and their superior numbers gave them the advantage in blind-firing through the dust along with the high ground, though only Boone was blind out of the two.

"Don't let them hit you!" he warned.

"Never meant to," Boone said, and the Courier felt a little annoyed.

Soon lasers joined their fire as two Mk. III Securitrons rolled up to their flanks, their authoritative general's digital faces scowling on their screens, their targeting undeterred by the desert smokescreen their own mortars caused.

After all, in the end it _was_ a massacre.

Though Boone didn't notice, the Courier did, when a third laser joined the two, but both heard ED-E's battle-cry music, and the familiar sound jolted both into a frenzied state, their hands working even faster.

When what at first seemed to be the legionaries' implacable spirit and zeal broke, and they ran off down the other side, few escaped the accurate aim of the securitrons gunning them down.

The Courier turned around and immediately an equally excited and concerned Eyebot frantically hovered up and down in front of him, beeping and undecided between wanting a hug and not wanting to aggravate the Courier's clearly battered torso.

"ED-E," he said, with a smile so wide even he heard it in his voice. "Did RALPHIE ever save his friend's life from a legion horde?"

ED-E beeped modestly, and if there ever was an equivalent of blushing for a robot, he did it.

"I'd say you've outpaced your own hero with this. Thank you."

Though the Eyebot took great warmth and comfort from this, concern for him quickly took over, and, panicked, it started to ask what transpired, what happened, this wasn't supposed to happen, he was supposed to win, what went wrong?

"ED-E! ED-E! Easy! You'll know everything I know, when I come back."

ED-E froze, and gave an alarmed beep.

"Don't fret; Big Mountain." The robot calmed down, and somehow looked relieved. "I think I'm going to have to bring the Think Tank in on this surgery. This is grave, ED-E. And I'll have to rely on Mobius to keep them from emptying my 'skinvelope'."

"You need me to come with?" Boone asked, tapping his rifle, so subtly. "I can keep an eye out without having any on me."

The Courier shook his head. "I trust them. They've purpose, remember?"

Boone stared, then relented. "Alright."

He turned back to ED-E. "And you… I'll have to give you your birthday present earlier, it seems."

Smiling, the Courier heard what should have been ED-E's delight, and though the sound he made was similar, it was off.

Too late did he realize it wasn't ED-E that made that whistling noise. He cursed himself for only turning when the Securitrons said, "Activating point-defense."

Boone didn't bother running – he knew he wouldn't make it even if he did – and ED-E gave a panicked beeping, and tried urging them both away, not understanding there was no getting away on foot.

Vaulting the dune and arcing down on top of them, four – no, five mini-nukes hissed! When the pin-head-accurate lasers lanced them in the sky, setting the sky alight but saving their lives, he thanked his own foresight in proposing a point-defense system.

Then he cursed himself again, when he realized too late that the point-defense only fired four lasers, and asked himself how it could be, was it a malfunction, a disruption in their targeting system from all the heat-and-radiation energy bursting out so violently and suddenly?

Then he realized it didn't matter, when the dreaded fifth mini-nuke surfaced from the undulating cloud of fire, and the securitrons activated their point-defense again, when it was too late.

Just then, his armor like a lover felt his despair, and into his body he felt injections, and the substances in them pump into his body. Time slowed to a crawl.

His hand reached for his last hope, the transportalponder, which had no time to be adjusted for more than one user and would take too long to put in the hand of Boone possessing too-inferior reflexes, while his other hand immediately surged to fist the sniper's collar, and with all his superhuman strength he flung the 1st Recon unceremoniously to safety almost a hundred meters across the sands. As Boone flew bewildered like never before and his survival armor stretched and torn beyond use, the Courier looked at ED-E and knew that his hovering jet would be too much of a risk, it could just fly him back into danger rather than out of it if thrown and spinning. But he could rely on their agreed contingency plan – to remote scan to another Eyebot model back in the Divide. He only hoped – how desperately he hoped – that the Eyebot would make it. The Courier suddenly regretted not updating the storage scans of ED-E in the Think Tank for the past weeks. There would be much he told the Eyebot it wouldn't remember.

What a shame.

And that left the Courier. The substance coursed through him like blood, and filled out a hollowness in his reflexes, strength, speed, his very body, he'd forget was there until he felt it filled up with the drug again.

But it wouldn't be enough, now that he had taken the time to fling Boone away. Indeed, only the transportalponder could save him, but even then as death howled at him from above, for what might be the _final_ time, he thought of taking the only other opportunity there was – the most _important_ opportunity, even more so than saving himself.

His other hand reached up to grab the necklace that once belonged to the most important woman in his life, and he mourned for the smallest of moments that he could not take off his glove and feel it on his skin.

_I miss you,_ he thought, not for the first time. _But maybe not for long. I hope you'll be proud of me when you see me._

He could feel her hair then, see her eyes, smile. She was beautiful. In that moment, the Courier was home again.

He pulled the trigger the nuke's howl exploded into a roar and set aflame the world.

* * *

He… couldn't remember anything else.

He found himself back in the void, but it felt different.

He was dreaming, he realized, with lucidity unlike him.

_Maybe… this is death…_

"**MESSENGER, YOUR HOLLOW WORDS WILL WITHER YOU _TO ASH!_**" thundered the monstrous voice in the dark.

_Maybe not._

Calmly, he opened his eyes.

He was on his knees in red sands, and in front of him, a ghost. Oily shadows held him by the arms in slick, unyielding grips.

He should have been terrified. The nightmares were one of the few things that he feared anymore.

But as black pitch was poured over him, he realized that he was, for the first time in his life, lucid.

He couldn't help but smile, even as the black tendrils of pitch snaked down his face.

Soon, he laughed. "I made you die screaming," he said to the ghost, with a mirth in his voice that should have disturbed him. "I killed you."

"Did you?" said Caesar, the torch raised high above. "I'll always be a part of you. Like everyone else."

"They made you a god." His grin was tainted, black and sticky. "_The God of Caesar_, they call you. _Deity to dying shadows of a former glory! An _old _glory!_" He laughed again.

Caesar stared. "You don't know a thing."

"I know I killed you in the middle of your own goddamn fortress." Goddamn, even now it was the most joyous thing to him.

"You prove my point."

Then, Caesar beat his chest with the torch like a heartbeat.

Fire enveloped him, and his skin began to boil and melt, and slough off his flesh. And he wasn't afraid.

When the filthy arms pulled him to his feet, he took one last look at the phantom in front of him, before he was cast burning down into the canyon behind.

The thrill of fall crumbled his composure. He cackled maniacally as he went down flaming. Like a falling star, arcing across the skyline of the creatures in the canyon.

As the ground came up to greet him, he shut his eyes...

There was only darkness.

In it, he thought of something. He didn't remember Caesar having blue eyes.

Something else, too.

_I am drifting. In the void again._

He opened his eyes, but drifted no more. Instead he found himself on his back, grass stroking his frame. He looked around, and surprise took him.

It was a forest, silent and serene with a healthy sun's glow. Trees burgeoned like the most beautiful graves around him. There was more greenery here than he had ever seen in his life. He didn't recognize the names carved into the healthy trunks, not even the ones he could read, but in this rare moment of quietude the Courier hoped they were good people at peace. It wasn't absurd.

They must have been. Their barked graves smelled good. The grass, the very ground smelled good. It all _felt _good. Like new soil; dark, not pale.

He liked that, because it felt like Earth. A better one.

But… maybe not all of them were at peace. She didn't seem so.

He didn't notice her until she reached the corners of his eyes, and caught him surprised. When his head flicked her direction, he understood why.

She had no shadow to alert him. Her footsteps, silent. Skin, wan like bones. He was struck by this ghost, because he had never seen her before.

And he always remembered a face, even if it was a glimpse and he didn't know who it belonged to. Somehow, her face seemed… faint, or unfeatured. Like a fog was shrouding it.

They met eyes as she passed his lying form, and those he could see. They shone through the fog, green and bright.

He couldn't help but think of the green behind his eyelids that had warmed him and reminded him of Arizona.

Then he thought, would he see her again when he woke up?

Why it mattered to him, he didn't know. But he hated when their locked gazes unlocked and she wandered off.

The warmth was gone, but her wake left her smell, and it melded with the smell of the sweet earth. He took deep, balming breathes.

He blinked. Soon she was all he could think of. _Just one look,_ he thought, but when he turned, she wasn't there. Only the wind.

The wind kissed his skin, almost painfully. He felt naked.

He looked down, and horror gripped him.

Every scar on his body had opened, bleeding and burning like inflicted anew.

He hugged himself, but that only worsened the pain so much more, until he could take no more, and screamed, and screamed, until his vocal cords almost snapped.

Somehow the mud mellowed his suffering, yet far from ended it.

Just then, a white figure walked by in the distance, appearing from behind one tree and disappearing behind another.

"Wait!" he called out.

The woman's laughter rang out. It wasn't mocking, but happy.

She didn't notice him.

He gritted his teeth, and began to crawl. As his body screamed at him, he tried not to howl like a dog maddened with pain. "_Help_!" he bit out.

He tried reminding himself it was just a dream, but it didn't help one whit.

As the pain worsened little by little, despair suddenly wrapped around his heart like burning cold fingers.

_I'm dying,_ he realized. _I'm going to die in a dream. I won't get to say goodbye._

The figure walked athwart his path in white, bright rags, and was gone before he could blink. But he saw who it was this time.

"_Who are you!?_"

He pushed his body off ground, leaves and mud matted to his bleeding body, and pulled himself forward with his burning forearms, one after the other, blood trailing behind him like a snail. He felt pathetic, and worse, like he was in hell.

"_FUCK!_" he growled through his teeth. _It hurts so much! Why won't it end?!_

He cleared his head and thought desperately of a friend.

The friend appeared before him, sitting on a water-carved stone as a river parted around it. In his hand, a book. His eyes read it naturally.

"_By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down,_" echoed a voice, "_yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion._"

The friend disappeared, and the Courier tried to remember Zion; tried to float away with its rivers and walk its canyon wilds; trying, failing, to shut out the unbearable pain.

"_Finally, my legion will have its Rome,_" said the phantom.

He didn't dare laugh again, but he mocked the words in thought.

She showed again, this time bleeding, and broken, even paler than before. As though all breath had left her. As she walked off, fire caught on her entire side, before she disappeared all the same.

He had only the strength to lift his eyes. Not even his head. It was how he noticed the trees, the words that had replaced the names he didn't know.

**_THE BURNED MAN WALKS!_**

**_GONE TO SIERRA MADRE!_**

**_BAN THE BOMB!_**

"_No need for bombs,_" said another courier, "_when hate will do._"

He saw the old world flag painted on a duster, and a head of twisted hair. Then he disappeared, and the Courier was left by his own bleeding self.

_Is this what the nuke did to me? What I did to the marked men of the Divide?_

**_COURIER SIX?_**

**_WHERE IS YOUR GOD/DOG NOW?_**

**_YOU CAN GO HOME, COURIER 6_**

Then he heard a voice he didn't deserve to hear. "_I should've known I was beaten before I began. I just… I had to try, you know?_" He saw her then, but her sadness was too much to look upon, and he wished he was blind.

He regretted wishing that. The pain came back, worsening until his eyes were throbbing with pain and like to burst in his skull. "Veronica…" he whispered. "_I'm sorry…_"

There was another way. He didn't have to do that to her. There was another solution. There had to be.

_There was a way. __I know it._

"_Finding it, though, that's not the hard part._" The voice was old, raspy, and he hated it. "_It's letting go._"

He couldn't take the pain anymore.

He agonized himself as he pushed his body as high as he could, and took a deep, burning breath.

"_WRAITH!_" he howled, until he thought his throat would jump out his mouth.

The forest floor met him as he fell again, and it was hellish. "_Help!_"

"_Sometimes I tell myself that these wild fires never stop burning_," said Joshua. "_But I'm the one who starts them._"

"Please, I have to wake up… even if I have to burn longer…" he told her, praying she could hear him. "_I... I can't leave them._"

"_You were there, all the time,_" said Dog, and God said, "_All the time, you were there… and so close… together…_"

Finally, the strength left him, and he slumped atop the biting, brambled floor, his body flayed and burning bloody. "I'm sorry," he said, to every regret he ever had.

Slowly, he heard footsteps on cracking twigs and brambles, before bleeding feet entered his despondent view.

"_Hey._" rang a voice, softly. It didn't try to comfort him, but to get his attention.

He woke up, like the giants beneath the Divide, and his eyes flung wide open.

_Something_ reached down, all the way down to his bloody, blurry vision. When he pushed himself to his knees, the pain mellowed and his sight sharpened again.

It was a hand, and as he wrapped his own around it, the wounds closed and burns extinguished. The blood and guilt washed from him. He even began to feel his armor grow around him like bark, whole again. A second skin in a less literal, painful sense.

He found the strength to stand up again, and did.

He towered over her. Finally, he saw her clearly.

She was… awing. Her visage was framed by fine red hair that came down to her neck; blood-crimson where the shadows darkened it; a mane of flame where the wisps of light piercing through the canopy set it alight.

From down her shoulders a white robe was draped, and stained with fresh blood, ending in burned, blackened tatters at her ankles. Her feet were bare and filthy, and bleeding.

When he looked in her eyes, they were of hardness and death… but they curtained something else. Something softer. Broken. He couldn't see what it was, though. If it was innocence, or spirit. There was confusion, and it muddled what might have been glanced. Her scars were glowing red cracks along her face, and they reminded him of the scars the old-world bombs left in the earth. They weren't numerous, but they ran far, and deep.

_A warrior, _he realized.

Maybe that was why she approached him warily.

He saw, only then for some reason, that in her other hand was a crook, made of cold, cruel metal, but shaped with purpose into something beautiful.

She surprised him again, when her hand had suddenly reached out and was touching his armored chest, like he was some statue. Through even the armor he felt her warmth.

"I don't know you," she said, suddenly.

He might have answered, but for the way she said it. She was thinking out loud.

"I don't know you," he responded.

She didn't react.

_She can't hear me._

He felt as though he wasn't here, because he realized he didn't feel the grass anymore, or the wind, or the smell of the earth. He wasn't part of this world, not really.

Or was it just the armor...?

No. No, that wasn't the answer, he realized.

She was never the wraith. _He_ was.

This was _her_ Earth.

These thoughts, and questions, all froze still in his mind, when _they_ emerged.

From behind her there came many animals. Bighorners and yao guai, coyotes and brahmin... and cazadores and _deathclaws_...?

And, to the Courier's utter surprise, there followed even sheep and wolves, and lions and stags, and so many other pre-war animals, all whole, unaffected by the unseen poison, just the way they looked in the pre-war books.

Then came the humans, and more creatures than he ever knew there could be. Blue, tentacle-crested females, avian-or-reptilian spiked creatures that stood almost as tall as him, hump-backed and hornless bastard-offsprings of deathclaws, and so many more.

And they all followed her beside one another.

Of course.

She was a shepherd, and it seemed wolves as well as sheep followed her. But… where was she shepherding them? And against what did her crook protect them from if not each other?

Though it was the answer to his question, the explosion rang painfully in his head.

_Like the truth to most questions,_ he thought, unfazed when he remembered he was just dreaming, even as every tree in the forest was uprooted and flung into the sky, smashing into each other.

A tornado of dirt and splinters surrounded them, but they were unharmed in the eye of the storm. His darkened world spun and spun into a sickening blur, before the wind died slowly, revealing the night.

He looked around as the creatures cowered. The land was bare, and there remained only earth and sky.

The explosion sounded again, and the creatures and humans all screamed. The animals ran off.

He turned to where the blast came from.

For a moment, he thought pitch was being poured over him again, for tendrils of black swarmed his vision as the sonorous blare filled his ears. His head ached like never before. He had to grab his helmeted head, and grunted in pain. He began to feel oily hands snake around his arms again.

The woman placed a hand on his shoulder, and they receded.

He looked up and met her eyes again, though she still seemed to look through him.

They looked to the sky as four great, glowing eyes opened in the dark abyss, and looked down on them.

"**CHILDREN OF OUR PREY, YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME.**"

First he thought it spoke to him but…

The humans, the creatures… even the woman… They all looked to know what this thing was.

This thing in the sky was after _them_.

"**MESSENGER. JOIN HER NOT. IT WILL BE A FALSE HOPE. WE ARE INEVITABLE. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE TRUE MESSAGE FOR THEM, AND I AM ITS HARBINGER. GO BACK FROM WHERE YOU CAME.**"

The blare sounded again, and the headache returned. But her grip remained, so he did too.

The Courier looked at her, and saw in her eyes the fear and despair that was in his own not long ago. Yet, she stood tall despite it. Protecting those that followed her.

Which seemed to be every conceivable damn thing, he thought, looking back at the mass behind her.

"You're hunting them." He met the eyes in the sky. "Why? What did they all do?" It made to answer – he could feel the air begin to thrum like the string of a guitar – but he changed his mind and waved it off. "It doesn't matter."

"**KNOW THAT WE ARE INEVITABLE. THIS IS GREATER THAN EVEN YOUR CIVILIZATION. YOUR WORLD IS YOURS. _RETURN, AND LEAVE US TO OUR OWN!_**"

_You mean leave them to be slaughtered._

He looked at the woman again, and knew he couldn't let it happen.

He stepped in front of her, between the herd and the titan, for what good it did.

"**SO BE IT. YOU WILL JOIN THEM, AND _WITHER!_**"

He looked back at her, and like his movement had finally awoken her she reacted.

He nodded wordlessly his gratitude to her. She looked uncertain of his presence, before she returned the gesture.

The Courier's eyes wandered up at the ones glowing in the sky, and felt himself grip the medicine stick that was suddenly in hand.

This time, it was the baritone of Joshua Graham's voice that stormed the dark sky, and it said "**_I am the right hand of the_ _lord_, _and the instrument of his vengeance!_**" and the Courier was inflamed with fury.

His legs primed and sprang quicker than their eyes could see, and he was off kicking up dirt before they could blink.

"_Wait!_" a voice shouted behind him, as he rushed the titan. "_Who are you!?_"

The world became warmer the further he ran, closer he got. The titan blared loudly again, and darkness swarmed his vision, but he kept running, coat whipping behind him, even as he burned again and oily hands grabbed at his arms.

"_Go for the head,"_ he whispered breathily to the four, engorging eyes. "_I'll put you in the ground with the last one that tried._"

The eyes brightened blindingly and more, until his world became a yellow glow, and his eyes burned out of his skull.

He ran until the world was bathed in fire again.

And then, it was silent.

* * *

**Boy was I surprised by the positivity from the first chapter! I love you all for your reviews. Keep them coming. And always, constructive criticism is welcome and pondered over.**

**I especially want to know how the fight sequence was, and be honest. Was it weird in a good or bad way, or awkward and tacky? Give your thoughts.**

**The Courier Six used in this story is my favorite one that I came up with regarding lore and background. If you want his stats, I can write it in the next chapter's Author's Note. You'll find it kinda... extraordinary. And by that I mean the guy has everything maxed out, basically. Also, elements from the Project Nevada mod is present in the story, so shout-out to schlangster who made it.**

**He's Courier Six, I mean, come on. ****However, he's not a Marty Stu. There needs to be a plot, and someone perfect and infallible will kill that entirely, so don't expect ya boy to have fistfought deathclaws and won, or to seduce the entire female cast of Mass Effect into a harem with his smoking gaze alone.**

**The _perks_ would be of interest, however. And his equipment will be shown in the chapter after the next, but if people want I can put a list in the next chapter's author's note of his starting equipment, if you're eager to find out.**

**Next chapter will be a short one, and will be out in 1-3 days, unless I get held up IRL. **

**It'll be a small glimpse of how the Courier's friends and allies react to his disappearance. I planned for it to be added to the end of this one, as it's just a short cameo of the New Vegas cast of characters and to give some idea of what they'll be doing because we won't be visiting them again for a while after next chapter, but it reached over 2000 words so I decided to make a short interjection chapter of it.**

**P.S: I am aware that Joshua Graham's voice actor voiced Harbinger, and yes, it was (coincidentally) intentional.**


	3. Men do, through the roads they walk

Rose of Sharon Cassidy was furious, and shouting - as well as furiously shouting, but honestly Boone couldn't blame her.

"What the hell does that mean, _we're not going out_?!" she yelled. "You just basically fucking said he got shelled by a fat-man before disappearing in a portal of radioactive shit! What the _fuck_ were you thinking waiting _two whole goddamn days_ to tell us!? _Two_ days! Seriously, what's wrong with you?! And you!" She spun and jabbed a finger like stabbing a knife toward Arcade, who was sitting thoughtful before she got up in his face.

"What the hell are you so calm for?"

The doctor started, "Well, there's this–"

"If you're thinking about quoting Shakespeare, or Homo or whatever the fuck his name was_..._" She loomed threateningly, but she wouldn't raise a hand so Boone remained in his seat.

"I was going to quote a roman philosopher," Arcade said, placidly, "but I get the message."

"And you!" She turned to Boone holding his ribs through his shirt, and stomped his way. "You should be wanting to decapitate the sons of bitches that did this."

He looked up at her, though it hurt to do even that.

Son of a bitch threw him like a ragdoll, but at least it saved him from getting a personal mini-demonstration of the twenty-third of October.

"Will it help bring him back?" he asked with deliberation.

Cass stammered with emotion trying to find her words. "N-No, but it sure as shit's better than just sitting here. Right?"

"They're already dead. The Securitrons that were with us went berserk after they repaired themselves. Hunted the ones responsible. When they came back, one of them gave a report. Said they reached far enough to see the Colorado river, but no farther than that. Not one escaped."

"And from the reports we've been getting from the east, the Legion is finally dead!" Yes-Man's jovial tone finally seemed fitting to Boone. "Or close enough, anyway."

She groaned and ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "What the _fuck_ are we doing here, twiddling our short-and-curlies?! We should be out there looking for him!"

"The chances of you locating–"

"Do I look like I give a _FUCK_ about chances, you big, smiling son of a bitch?! Who are we talking about?" Boone had to give it to her; she wasn't wrong. Even against luckier people, the Courier turned their luck to numbers and little more. "If the chances are low, then they're sky-rocketing fucking high with him! Sure, he'll take a stabbing, a beating, a shooting, a maiming, a disintegration, a whatever-the-fuck, but in the end he gets up, and he always comes back! But _this_ time? He ate a mini-nuke! He's out there, waiting for us to find him, and for once we have to step to it instead of him!"

Somehow, Yes-Man seemed to shrink, even as a static image on a screen. Boone almost felt sorry for the AI.

"I agree whole-heartedly with you, Rose, believe _me_!" And just like that, his disgustingly happy tone just became unfitting again.

"Because of your programming, I know! How about something honest instead?"

"Oh, no! It's not because of my programming. I know very well how luck works with him! It's just that... Well, he's always realistic about things, and yeah, stuff sometimes popped into his laps – often _after_ he took a helluva lot of beating. Again, one of the points I agree with you on. _I'm_ thinking this is the beating done with, and now we just have to wait."

"_Wait_?" Somehow, that she didn't shout the word made it all the more chilling. "For something to fall in our goddamn laps?! Is that what you're saying?!"

Just then, the big, purple form of Lily came into the room, and in her hand she held a steaming cup on a tiny porcelain plate. "Does my little Rose need something to warm her up?" the nightkin asked, in her rasping, gravel voice. "Here, sweetheart, have a sip of this and you'll calm right down."

Cass spun around. "NO, LILY, I DON'T FUCKING NEED–"

"Cass!" Boone shouted, almost jumping to his feet with a grimace of pain.

He's sure it must have made him look furious. It was certainly enough to give her pause, and a deep breath. Her anger's furrows softened into regret. "Shit... Sorry, Lily. No, thank you. I don't need tea. I'm just..." She sighed, and turned to the big screen. "Just what the hell are we waiting for? How could you keep this from us for two days? He's out there, I know he is."

"Do you trust him, Rose?" Yes-Man asked, before answering his own question, "What am I saying? Of course you do! Trust _me_, when I say that everything will be explained. Because you see, this is all according to his contingency plan!"

That took even Boone by surprise, he who had to keep quiet about this for days. "It is?"

Cass looked at him. "You mean you didn't know about this?"

He shook his head, and Arcade commented, "Neither did I. Not that this surprises me. You know how he was. How important he took to the task of the Mojave."

"If this is another one of his self-sacrificial bullshit plans, I'll find him just to put a bullet in his over-dramatic skull myself."

_Maybe that's his plan,_ Boone thought humorously, a soft smile on his lips. Self-preservation was an instinct he retained, however, so he didn't say that out loud.

Lily came over, surprising him. "Craig. Do you need any tea? A pillow? Something to ease the pain?"

He blinked, and looked up. "No, Lily. It's worse than it looks. But, thanks." He heard the dim echo of a clatter. Raul down below, probably.

"Of course, sweetheart. Just call if you need something. Young man?" she said, turning abruptly to Yes-Man.

"How can I help you, Lily?"

"Please be a dear and answer Rose's question." Even with her mutated voice, she sounded more concerned than threatening. as she said. "Poor thing's worried out of her mind. Why were we kept waiting?"

"Of course, I was just getting to that. Cassidy, to answer your question, we're waiting for... Huh."

"What," Cass said, too quickly. "What do you mean, 'huh'? Is there something wrong?"

"No," answered the AI. "In fact, it's a quite a pleasant surprise. As I was going to say, we're waiting for a few allies."

"Think Tank decided to get off their asses?"

"Oh, no; no need to wait for them. We're in constant communication with the Think Tank! I'm talking about those without the means to communicate. One of them's coming by foot, arguably the most vital one to these plans. He actually just arrived; Boone, I believe you reacted to him not long ago. You know, the sound?"

Boone's eyes widened. That clatter from below? "That was him?"

"Exactly. He's being guided up here right this moment. And... now he's outside the door."

Everyone's eyes turned to penthouse's doors, and when they opened, Cass said just about what everyone was thinking.

"What the fuck?"

"_Language_, young lady." Lily berated sternly.

"Sorry, but... What the fuck?"

"Uh, who's this guy?" Arcade asked.

But Boone didn't pay attention to the man, just stopped himself from sighing from relief. "ED-E!"

The Eyebot quickly zoomed past his companion. After hurriedly asking if Boone was alright and getting a non-committal grunt by way of placation, ED-E was given a quick pat on the head by the Nightkin grandma and returned to his companion's side.

"Ran as fast as I could," said the gas-masked man in a dulcet voice. He wore a black duster, and his hair was braided. His stride showed an undeniable presence about him. it only made his suspicions of his identity stronger. "Divide seemed a blur; only rested when there was the need for it. Urgency motivated me away from it."

"Your haste is very much appreciated!" the AI's voice spoke behind them. "I'm glad you're here."

"Who are you?" Cass asked.

When the man approached the room's center, Boone's eyes found the American flag on his back. He knew exactly who this was.

"Ulysses."

The former courier stopped in front of Yes-Man's flickering face. "Heard of me," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Courier Six spoke of me?"

"Not the name we have for him, but yeah. More than a bit."

"_You're..._? " Cass' glare burned like radiation. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing here? You plan to launch another nuke? Guess what, we're looking to _save _someone, someone _alive_," she quipped, more angry at her situation than some story she'd heard.

Boone pretended he didn't notice the hesitation in her tone.

"This is a rescue, not a fucking crime against humanity. Go somewhere else if you wanna try and commit genocide again."

Ulysses, to his credit, seemed entirely unfazed. He gave her a single glance, and it wasn't mocking, or dismissive, but acknowledging. Boone had to respect that. Reminded him of the Courier, actually, now that he thought about it.

There was something about how the man carried himself, the honesty of it. He didn't doubt the man knew deceit - he was a former frumentarius - but like a poisonous skin it had been shed.

Ulysses returned his gaze to the screen. "This robot passed to one of its shell-twins in the Divide. Came to me, as soon as it could after its rebirth. Did the same, getting here. Do they know?"

"Know what?" she asked.

"Well, the readings the securitrons picked up..." It drifted off. "Let me just say, before you all panic, have existential crises, give up all hope of saving your dear, dear friend, and/or get a new perspective on the multiverse theory and by proxy life as we know it, that the Think Tank is already working diligently on proving or disproving what I'm about to tell you."

Arcade looked like he'd been both slapped and kissed at once, Lily sipped her tea, Cass looked like it may have been speaking another language and Boone was in the same boat.

"_Multiverse_ theory?" Gannon asked dubiously.

"Basically, based on the energy readings we got, one of the most prevalent theories is that our mutual friend either managed to transportalpond to another galaxy, or more likely... a different dimension-slash-universe."

The silence was a shocked one. Boone couldn't find his words or his thoughts but for realizing he was staring like an idiot.

Ulysses, _somehow_, seemed calm, but it was hard to tell behind his breather. His eyes deepened, which bespoke his thoughtfulness.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," Cass said. "First getting his brain scooped out by pre-war-scientist brains-in-jars, and now _this_?"

And that was it. The only reason none of them told Yes-Man to stop with the bullshit and tell them what was really going on.

They never believed the Courier's stories of the Big Empty, but after he upgraded his supposed teleporting device to teleport more than one person, and then brought each of them to the Sink, no one ever doubted him again - which made it too easy for the Courier to fool them with _very,_ _annoyingly,_ elaborate jokes, but it was a sacrifice they were willing to make as long as they were never wrong about that kind of thing again.

For a moment, Boone actually considered if this whole thing was an elaborate joke, but he hardly had to remember that the Courier had little humor about the Legion.

"So," began Gannon, "Before the aforementioned panic, existential crisis, loss of all hope, and new perspective on the multiverse theory strikes me all at once like a mini-nuke to the face - Oh, that was a poor choice of analogy, wasn't it?"

It was.

Cass's and Boone's glares let him know that as he looked around furtively.

"A-anyway... Could you explain _how _in the hell you came to that conclusion?"

"It's very complicated," Yes-Man said, expectedly. "Even _I_ only understand eighty-three-point-three percent of it all, and I'm a full-blown Artificial Intelligence with Mr. House's extensively developed prediction algorithms and even more extensive database, so don't feel bad!"

"Thanks, Yes-Man. You fixed every self-esteem issue I ever had, retroactively." The sarcasm dripped harmlessly from Arcade's voice, but how it dripped.

"You're welcome!"

Not for the first time, Boone wondered whether or not the AI was being sarcastic too.

"Now to simplify things, the readings are in some ways similar to a worm-hole, but not entirely. The biggest reason that the Think Tank's leading theory is a different universe is, well... We occasionally get a connection to his life-support system and transponder. It flickers in and out, at the exact location where he used the transportalponder to get away from the fat-man shell! Now, the interesting thing is this: if he was transportalpondered elsewhere in the world, we would get a signal on that location, and if he teleported too far away, like, say, anywhere farther than the moon, the signal would just cut off completely."

Everyone seemed to lean in to listen, except Lily and Ulysses.

"Instead, it hasn't moved, only weakened! The securitrons spent the past two days scanning for pieces of his armor, but the signal remains consistently above ground, at chest height - for him, anyway - which is approximately where the transponder is located in his armor. The Think Tank was dumbfounded - or they should have been. They actually immediately went to the theory of a different dimension or universe - but I digress! Never thought I'd be happy to have a bunch of mad scientists under us, but here we are!"

"And you don't think they've gotten ahead of themselves?" Gannon asked, giving voice to everyone's incredulity. "I mean, they _are_ mad scientists."

"Well, the different reality-slash-universe is secondary. What really convinced me was that the readings are in fact potentially the same signature of a particular energy certain pre-war studies discovered years before the war, which the Think Tank suspects, and if that's true then he's definitely in another _dimension_. They didn't have time to give the details before my connection was cut off by a threatening message about robot scorpions and raisins or something. I'll have to get back to them, but from what I gathered, the different reality-slash-universe really just depends on what's _inside_ this dimension. Pragmatically, it's just semantics. Somehow, something's boosting the signal - the energy that the pre-war scientists discovered, I'm guessing - that allows his equipment to gain an extremely weak, relatively strong, connection from that dimension. Most likely, all research conducted will have something to do with the signal. That's why I've already taken the liberty of securing that area of the desert for the Think Tank. As soon as I can, I'll have them get to it."

The silence filled the room again.

_...Oh, Jesus Christ. _

Boone couldn't believe what he was hearing.

It was the dulcet voice that broke the quiet. "Know you're all shocked. Takes time to process this - it changes everything. For us, and the world. But..." He turned around - _"You gotta be fucking kidding me,_" whispered Cass - and faced them all. "If anyone can survive this... cataclysm... and also return from it... who else, but Courier Six?"

_He's right about that._

He turned to Arcade. "You're the inheritor? Ghost of America?"

Arcade blinked, taken aback. "I genuinely mean no offense, but could you say that in non-cryptic English?"

"The Enclave's last," he explained, neutrally. It seemed none was taken.

"Ah. Then yes. Well, my surrogate family is, rather. I'm just the son of one of their former squadmates."

"That will do. Will have to. Gather them again, but not for battle. Does your family keep Enclave technology?"

"Nothing other than a vertibird and their personal suits of power armor. They were a combat squad, not a group of scientists." He stared ahead ponderously. "No, wait. Actually, they might know about some hidden complexes. They might retain databases, or tech that can be studied or reverse-engineered somehow. I can get in touch with them, bring any data they find from the locations to the Think Tank."

Ulysses nodded solemnly. "Then America's past, its mistakes, may bring some good to its future." He turned to the rest of them. "As for you... You're family. You never called it that, but the lonesome vigil I had with him above the Divide gave his words honesty. Earnestness. Told me as much."

Cass scowled. "So we're supposed to trust you?" She turned to them. "We're seriously not letting this guy tell us what to do, are we? After what he almost did?"

Ulysses seemed confused by her. "He wouldn't have left out forgiveness. My... redemption."

"You guys had history," she said, turning to frown at him. "We don't. I'm not going to listen to a maniac who almost turned the Mojave into the next Glow instead of dealing with trying to figure out the meaning of life like a normal person."

For the slightest moment, Boone thought he saw shame pass over the man's eyes. "Can understand your reservations. But its his words, writ, that I lead."

"_What_? He made _you_ the fucking leader of New Vegas? Hey, smiley, tell me this long-winded son of a bitch is fucking with me!"

Ulysses answered her, refusing to break eyes. "Your history with Courier Six's set in stone, sand, metal. Maybe won't be written in history books, but your bond's already made its mark on the Mojave. Its buildings. It does _not_ earn you the right to head this in his stead. None of you. Not an insult - fact."

"I can understand that," said Arcade, diplomatically interrupting another of Cass' outbursts before it could... burst. "No one here's gonna boast of having had an administrative profession in the past, but what exactly qualifies _you_? Other than the Courier's word, that is; and considering Yes-Man's lack of refuting I'm guessing you're not lying about that."

"Not the leader of New Vegas," Ulysses said. "Coded life behind me will take that throne of Damocles, as it always had. Keep the waves calm, and running."

"You got that right!" the AI said, behind him. "Don't you worry about a thing, people!"

"Not a leader of nations. Part of one, maybe," Ulysses said, musing. "Not decided yet." He broke out of it, and his eyes looked up. "Courier Six's word _is_ what will qualify me to find him. He is the only one to give you the why of it. I didn't reject his offer - not my way, to slap away the extended hand of a... brother. An invitation of faith, trust, in me. To care for his home if something should happen. Maybe because I was a frumentarius once, know his history better than anyone else. I should've asked, but... doubt I would get a simple answer."

"Kinda like listening to you talk," Cass spat. "Every sentence's a fuckin' riddle."

"My mother tongue," he said. "Tribal." There wasn't an inch of him that looked bemused.

Craig couldn't help but see Ulysses was different. No, that's the wrong way of looking at it. He's _changed_. To hear about him first from the Courier, the way he was when they first met in the Divide. The anger. The hate he "bore for the dead".

And seeing how different he is now...

"Regardless." Boone snapped out of his thoughts. "He offered me a home. A nation to call my own, be proud of." His eyes looked to the ground ponderously, almost... regretfully. At that moment, Boone lost all doubt that he felt the Courier's loss just as much as they did. "Maybe if I had chosen on it, things would have been different."

The sniper didn't doubt everyone else would begin to see the Ulysses they'd heard so much about in a different light.

Even Cassidy looked surprised, the anger fallen from her face. "_Thinking like that won't help anyone_," she whispered, by way of some acceptance maybe, or concession.

"You are right." He looked up at all of them, eyes firm with a knowing of what had to be done. "History and hindsight go to sleep for now. Need to tend to the Mojave's future. I won't rule over anything, except tracking Courier Six." He looked to Arcade. "The Enclave will bring our questions to the old world, bring back answers that the Big Empty does not have. It is time for America to wake up... Its son is missing, and must be brought home."

The doctor nodded with a seriousness and intent you didn't often see.

Ulysses turned to Boone, Cass, and Lily, and ED-E. "As we wait, the rest of you will be called. The NCR is still too weakened, Yes-Man tells me. It is the remnants of the Legion we will need to question. This... 'blue stuff'" he said, pointedly glancing at Boone (he didn't know what else to call it in his report, give him a break), "that's afflicted them... is unlikely to bring answers." There was a pause. "It's unlikely we will find him at all. The truth of it is, if anything is likely, it is that the Think Tank will bring him home, or Courier Six will find _us_. Worse things have come for him and failed. Different dimension, a locked door. It makes no difference, no matter." His brow furrowed with a determined scowl. His voice drummed like soft thunder. "But that is _no_ excuse. I will tear up earth, and foe, no matter how small the chance that they are responsible for this, to find him. This nation needs him." His face, what could be seen of it, softened. "He is its leader and its symbol. Future in his heart and mind, future New Vegas should strive towards."

"Goddamn right," Cass said, her emotion finally seeping into her trembling voice. "You won't hear any different from us." It didn't surprise anyone how much this affected her.

They weren't blind like the Courier, they knew what the man meant to her.

Ulysses found her welling eyes, nodded, and with a promise in his own he met each of their's. "I am not your family, but... I am his, in a way - your way. The way that matters more than blood, and womb, and battle. No matter the circumstance, when I see him again, I will say with truth that I did everything I could to find him. And if the Rose of Sharon Cassidy has spoken for all of you, so will you."

When his voice became quiet, not one refuted his words.

The former courier nodded, accepting their answer.

He turned his head of twisted hair, and looked up at Yes-Man. He didn't say a word to the AI, but it knew exactly what had to be done, it seemed.

"Ulysses, I think it's going to be a pleasure to be working with you!" The screen turned off, and Ulysses turned and left the room.

They followed.

* * *

**Next chapter, the story will finally start!**

**Keep the feedback coming, people. I love it.**


	4. How are you holdin' up?

**So I discovered I'm a fucking degenerate that doesn't know how to pace a chapter properly.**

**I wrote an almost 10000 word chapter, before I decided to cut things out and use it for the next chapter. **

**Basically, you're only getting a 3100 word chapter after waiting this goddamn long.**

**However, that means the next chapter already has 5200 words written - pending changes. Plus, I'm in the process of writing a correspondence chapter (that'll come the chapter after the next) containing a list of the Courier's found items, and - you guessed it - correspondence between crew-members. The items will provide some insight into the Courier's journeys and personality, so stay tuned.**

**Really sorry about such a meager-length chapter, but I'm hoping that the next one will be worth the wait. It's not like the time spent writing was wasted, just that most it will be in the next chapter. And _t_****_hat's_ when shit will start to pop.**

**Hope you enjoy this one nonetheless.**

* * *

"Doc, you might wanna get to the hangar," Joker said.

Karin Chakwas looked up, surprised, from the report EDI had so hastily yet expertly compiled together for her.

There was much in the report that was inexplicable. An energy spike unconfirmed to have been EMP bomb (meaning a potentially unknown energy) capable of knocking out the Normandy's entire systems but for EDI, the possibility that it wasn't even a bomb, and an unscathed suspected-human in dead-center of the source?

Join with that the messages of potentially literary roots and implications of another artificial intelligence?

_Who are you, that do not know your history,_ the report told her. _Help him._

It went without saying it was a bewildering circumstance the Normandy's crew found themselves in.

So when the pilot called her to the hangar, she found herself more anxious than eager. She was always more a healer than a scientist in her profession, so the unknown set her at unease more often than not; certainly more than it did for her - pardon the military jargon - egg-head counterparts.

She would be lying if she said she was looking forward to this.

But in the end, she had her duty, just as everyone else.

"I'll be down in a moment," she said, and stood up from her chair, hands already setting to her task.

She was gathering her things when she saw crewmen through the window, rushing to the elevator.

Timely, Joker added, "Put on your hazmat before you do."

Her eyes widened. "Hazmat?" And then she understood. "They're bringing in the lifeform?"

"That is correct," EDI said. "Crewmen Rolston, Patel, and Hadley are prepared to set up a decontamination unit in the hangar for when Commander Shepard and Operative Lawson return."

"Thank you," she told her.

"You are welcome, Medical Officer Chakwas," EDI said.

"Call me Karin."

"As you wish. Karin, I would recommend remaining in the med-bay until their arrival and taking the time to prepare radiation treatments for the Commander and Operative Lawson."

That made sense, was the doctor's first thought. But as she tucked her legs and arms in the decontamination suit, it occurred to her that the AI neglected to mention the third passenger. "What of the lifeform?"

"It was in the very center of the energy blast, where radiation levels are highly lethal. Commander Shepard was motionless in the center for twenty-four seconds, and will already require immediate attention. As for the lifeform, no possibility exists of it being alive."

Karin had stopped listening near the end, from shock. "_Twenty-four_, you said?!" Karin was aghast. What was going on with Shepard?

First the bloodied knuckles, the despondent stupor during her report on Lazarus's vestigial scars, and now she hears about this?

She would have to have a talk with the commander, and soon.

"It is only because you gave her proactive radiation medicine that she won't suffer extensive radiation poisoning, unless immediate care is neglected."

"As comforting and assuring of my work's importance that is, you haven't yet explained why she stayed motionless for so long!"

"What I am able to ascertain from her suit's life-support data is that she went into mental shock for an indiscernible reason. She remained unresponsive to numerous attempts at communications from Flight Lieutenant Moreau, Operative Lawson, and Operative Taylor. A psychological evaluation is recommended."

Karin huffed, plopped the hazmat mask down on her head, and zipped up her suit. "Might as well bring out the whole shebang while we're at it," she said – a term Jenkins taught her – by way of coping with the feasible possibility that her friend was suffering. She had taken enough psychology courses that she had the self-awareness-and-criticism to realize that.

As worrying a sign that this was, Shepard's mental problems were far from the most unpredictable to the doctor. Trauma was a given, no matter how much the Commander forced herself to be a self-reliant and strong leader for the men and women that followed her. In fact, the isolation could only further her wounds.

_The tragedy of leaders_, Karin lamented. They may give their courage to those that look up to them, but they can never open themselves up.

Else their followers might think them as human and fallible as everyone else.

Melancholic, Karin went about preparing for the more immediate situations with radiation medicine and radiation "cleansers". She even had the time to prepare for the aforementioned psychological evaluation, before she was interrupted and called down to the hangar bay.

She wouldn't have shed a tear if she was interrupted too soon for the latter – the evaluation was a formality after all.

Shepard would never bother with it.

The doctor was surprised to find herself fidgeting in the descending elevator. The act itself was unusual enough, but it was the fact that it was out of as much fascination as unease that took her aback. This was unbecoming of her.

Karin was thankful of the opening doors, for they forced her mind to the task at hand.

Instantly, she saw the platinum-and-gold tent exiting the elevator. Four crewmen in combat-ready decontamination suits stood guard at its corners, with Jacob Taylor by the entrance. Two shuttles (one of them being decontaminated by a crewman) sat in the bay landed but not docked, and the Commander was nowhere to be seen along with Lawson.

It wasn't hard to deduce where they were.

When she entered the long tent, its flaps closed swaying behind her until Taylor zipped it down.

Karin walked down its brightened and sterile corridor, her footsteps echoing lightly off the platinum walls.

She saw, through the next flap-door's transparent plastic windows, Shepard's N7 armor already glinting, dripping in the distance, and Lawson in the process of a decontamination spray.

Though she might not have made note of it if not for EDI, the Commander was disturbingly still, looking down at the stretcher no doubt supporting the cadaver found.

It reminded her of the way Shepard wandered off staring at her tray earlier today.

Could it be the corpse was so deformed it shook her?

When she arrived at the end of the tent, Lawson had just finished and came out of her stall.

"Doctor," Operative Lawson greeted curtly, voice filtered through her helmet.

"Operative Lawson," she returned.

"Have you read the report?" All business.

They approached behind the Commander together. "I have."

They stopped.

"Commander Shepard."

There was the shortest pause. "Yeah, Lawson?" she said, quietly.

Karin and Operative Lawson glanced at each other.

"That wasn't me, Commander."

"Huh?" Her head jerked up, and she turned around. Karin saw her eyes widen with surprise. "Doc."

"Commander. How are you feeling?"

"I'm…" _Fine_, is what she had learned to expect, but "Not sure," is what she got instead.

The admission was surprising, but not enough to break the doctor's composure. "I want you in my med-bay immediately for radiation cleansing, Commander. Make your way there."

"N-no, I should stay. Help bring the- stretcher in."

"I can do that, Commander," said Operative Lawson. Her voice told Karin she was just as confused by Shepard's behavior.

"Actually, both of you can," Karin said. She leaned aside to look past Shepard, and the sight admittedly made her freeze too. Though, not for long. And it left the question of why it affected the Commander so.

She momentarily pushed the thought out of her head, and beheld.

"_My…_" she whispered, fascination suddenly replacing all unease.

It was a sight and a half; tall, and clad all in a dreadful, black-and-green armor beneath an impressive trench coat, plated along the legs, arms, and hands. Two green pauldrons guarded its broad shoulders, joined together with leather straps across the corpse's chest and back. It's visage was a Byronic one, with two dark lenses for eyes, as if shut forever, but foreboding. A warning to touch at your own peril.

It was an ominous thing even a hardened soldier would pause at seeing.

The green of its throat-guard was painted over with an off shade of the same color - brighter. In rustic yet charming fashion, 'R.I.P.' was painted above 'R.C.' in white letters.

She approached warily for a closer look.

The armor's design seemed archaic for some reason, a reason on which she had to ponder, as she walked all around the stretcher tapping at her datapad.

The pondering soon bore fruit.

It was the rounded helmet, like the ones old soldiers once wore when medi-gel wasn't a thing, and amputees had to make do with ineffective prostheses, and socks had to be changed and dried regularly to avoid necrosis from the dampness of war trenches. It was the antenna device at its ear, protruding like some miniature of an old radio your great grandparents kept in the attic, the ever-stylish, dark-green (and oddly distinct) trench coat it sported, the military boots that still used laces, and…

"Are those… bullets?" The question was more of surprise than genuine confusion, though confused she unquestionably was.

Across its armored torso, two leather bands crossed, hanging, and uneven to each other; one a row of leather packs and the other a bandolier lined with _bullets_. Possibly even filled with gunpowder, if they were more than simple replicas.

There was amusement in Operative Lawson's eyes. "His equipment and weapons are being taken care of by Jacob. Curious to see what he'll find." She gestured for the doctor to approach. "Come look at this."

She looked.

The operative's hands turned its heavy head, and Karin's eyes found something interesting scratched into the helmet's temple, above the corpse's right eyebrow, beside the white star that was daubed on the side of the helmet.

'_BENNY WAS HERE_' was written, beside an equally crudely-etched arrow - seemingly with the same sharp tool - pointing at a black bullet hole painted on the forehead of the helmet.

Chakwas's eyes widened. "That would have been a story, I imagine. A shame we will never hear it."

"Indeed." Miranda turned then lifted the head. Black words, painted across the top of the helmet from the front, said

_**FORECAST:**_

_**RAPIDLY CHANGING**_

_**CONDITIONS**_

"A psychologist's diagnosis if ever I've seen one," the operative remarked, by way of a dry joke.

At the back, it said with big letters and crude:

**_GHOSTS _**

**_OF _****_THE DIVIDE,_**

_**FORGIVE ME!**_

"Interesting..." She glanced at Shepard whose gaze obsessed over the corpse.

Chakwas had been dumbfounded into silence when she first saw it, yes, but Shepard was – could it be? – traumatized.

"Well-cleaned, I see," she continued absently as her fingers noted its quirks – that's to say, its whole being – on her datapad.

"He was already clean when we found him," Operative Lawson said. "Like he hadn't been touched. The only foreign element was a lethal level of gamma radiation. That, and the paint. Initial scans showed only bacteria that can survive the cold of vacuum. That means he couldn't have been out there very long. What's odd, is that his armor would have to have been sterilized seconds before the explosion, if not the instant."

That surprised her.

But, enough perusing. She had to get to work. "Help me roll him out?" That part, Shepard heard.

Chakwas quickly decontaminated, and when she joined them the women rolled the stretcher out. They seemed to struggle more than she expected.

The elevator was cramped with all four of them, but it thankfully did not take long to arrive on the first level.

"Heard you're bringing the body in," the intercom said with Joker's voice as they rolled out. "Did he have two packages, Commander?"

Karin was admittedly confused, and Operative Lawson made a quiet scoffing noise for an indiscernible reason, but Shepard didn't react. Her eyes remained focused ahead.

Chakwas didn't like it.

This focus was not her trained kind, where she could joke and put you on your behind at the same time. She was obsessively focusing the way she did when burying herself in her work, often when trying to get away from something.

Joker piped up again. "Hey, is all of this a ruse because she actually muted me and it'd be socially awkward to admit it?"

"No," Operative Lawson said, rather brusquely.

"So she's still out of it? Seriously? Hey, Commander, if you want I can send a vid I found of an asari and a human dude getting creative with her head-tentacles."

"C-come again?" Shepard stuttered, jerking awake with obvious interest.

Karin's eyes widened, until Joker chuckled.

"I'm fine, Joker," Shepard said casually in dismissal. "Just distracted."

A bloody lie, but okay.

The med-bay doors opened and the stretcher rolled in, before stopping just past her desk. It backed, turned, and tucked between the two beds at the end of the room.

As she worked its straps loose, Shepard asked, "Isn't he… dead?"

"Yes." An odd question.

"How do you know?"

She explained, "According to EDI, nothing could've survived the radiation levels where you found it for that period of time."

"How do you know that?" Shepard asked. She shook her head before Karin could answer, "I mean… how long was it out there? How do you know how long it was out there?"

Before Chakwas could answer that, she was interrupted again by Operative Lawson, but she actually preferred being enforced in her explanation. "I'd assume the doctor deduced the time from when the energy spike triggered to when we pulled it out of there was the most apt and practical window."

"Oh… right. Yeah, that'd make sense."

Operative Lawson gave the doctor a glance but Karin didn't return it.

Shepard was distracted, yes – very much so – but still lucid, (frighteningly) vulnerable, and most importantly her friend. Karin wasn't going to make her feel insane.

"Are you alright," she asked. Concern had seeped into her voice.

There was a silence, a long one, before Shepard asked, "Can I talk to you, doc?"

_Okay, so perhaps she is a _little _insane_, she thought in a bout of drollness. "Of course, but help me first, if you would."

"Oh, right. Sure thing." She straightened and nodded to the Cerberus woman. "The arms."

The commander stood at the corpse's feet and tucked her arms beneath its legs, gripping tightly, as Operative Lawson's slid beneath its shoulders and arms.

"One, two–" They inhaled, and, with great strain, lifted.

"_Hnngh…_" The commander remained impressively firm.

"_Bloody hell!_" Lawson was less so strong, already quaking.

They couldn't even move, Karin realized as even Shepard's arms began to shake after a few still moments.

"_Doc_!" The Commander gritted out, jerking downwards with her head.

Karin gasped suddenly as she realized that the Commander was gesturing to the stretcher. "Of course, sorry!"

She swiftly pulled it from out underneath the body.

"No worries…" They shimmied rather comically to the hospital bed to the right, and swayed the body as much as they could before tossing it.

The armored figure landed heavily and to a cacophony of creaks and snaps, almost breaking the bed beneath its weight.

Karin shook her head in her palm. Shepard moved back, and shrugged at her.

At least it landed well.

Miranda panted, too tired to even take her left hand from out beneath its arm. "Bastard almost tore my arms out of their sockets."

Shepard made no comment, staring again.

"Certainly heavier than he looks," Karin admitted. The only other thing that Shepard struggled to carry with help was a krogan.

She slid past Operative Lawson and tapped on the machine's monitor. It groaned mechanically, and stretched out further, accommodating its tall occupant. Soon, the end of the bed slid out from underneath the body's legs, which fell onto the dimpling mattress.

She passed Lawson again to Shepard's side. "_Commander_," she said, furtively.

Shepard looked away finally, to Karin.

"_You want to have that talk now?_" she asked.

"_Alone_," the commander whispered back.

"BLOODY– SHIT!"

Karin gasped and Shepard's arm surged out, quickly pushing her back, and stepped automatically between her and the bed.

"That's nasty," Joker mocked. "_Commander_, she said a bad word."

"What's wrong?" Karin asked. She couldn't see past Shepard's protecting frame, but Miranda had backed away to the opposite bed's edge where she could be seen.

"Human ears!" she said, wide, aggressive eyes visible through her visor.

Joker's voice filled the room again. "Wow, you Cerberus types _are_ racist, huh?"

"He's made a necklace out of them, you idiot!" Lawson readied her pistol.

Karin's entire being froze.

"Let me see." Shepard approached the bed, fearlessly. Her eyes looked him up and down, but found nothing. "Where?"

"Underneath its wrist!"

She lifted its hand, and shied away ever so slightly. "_Jesus…_"

When the doctor peered, shock put a hand to her mouth instinctively, widened her eyes.

Grizzly things of the physical body wasn't unusual for her, but it wasn't often she saw something so _ruthless_. A short rope of twelve, maybe thirteen human ears was laced to its waist, and from their stumps she surmised that a crude edge was used.

The most menacing fact to Karin was that they were left ears, all.

"You sure his mask isn't made of human faces, Commander?" the intercom quipped unerringly.

"_Joker_, cut the chatter!" she shouted in the voice that had stayed even krogans in their tracks.

She took the brace of ears by the string and plopped them down on a stainless, sterile tray that wasn't sterile for much longer.

The Commander glanced at the operative, and frowned. "Lawson, put the gun down, for god's sake. He's out."

"For the better," Lawson said, but when she moved to put away her gun, Karin saw she did so hesitantly.

For Karin, however, with the steadfast Commander here, she didn't feel as frightened as she would have without her.

_Are you back again?_ she wondered, hopeful.

"Doctor Chakwas. Take whatever scans and tests you need, and give me a call if something comes up."

"Certainly, but I'd appreciate some help getting the armor off."

"We tried," Operative Lawson said. "Don't bother. Unless you intend to use a plasma cutter."

"I don't understand; what's the trouble?"

"Its locked tight, and won't open from outside," Shepard explained, crossing her arms as she looked at the body with analytical eyes. "Hermetically sealed, and insulated from scanning technology. Or so EDI says." Though her voice did not, her words betrayed her distrust. "If the looks didn't give it away, he's not wearing a standard armor from most manufacturers. No model I can think of. Most likely it was custom-made."

_Certainly customized._ Karin looked again at the writing on the helmet and the throat guard.

"EDI hasn't run the scans yet, but after you're done with your tests, she can give it a go."

"Why didn't she scan him immediately after you brought him in?"

"She's busy analyzing his equipment and compiling a report."

Operative Lawson interjected, "That includes his weapons. We only glanced them, but they seemed outdated."

"_Actual_ gunpowder?" she asked.

"We're about to find out," Shepard said, and turned to leave the room. "Come on, let's go, Lawson. EDI might give some info you can use to make the doc's job a little easier." Lawson fell in line at her heel.

"Though I appreciate the thought," Chakwas began, "you're not going _anywhere_ except your room. I've sent up treatment to your rooms, ladies. It's for the radiation. Do yourselves a favour, and make sure your bathroom doors are closed. Keep _lots _of water close at hand. It's a rather dehydrating treatment."

Shepard groaned and left with an indifferent though thankful Operative Lawson.

Karin smiled, waved goodbye through the window.

A smile, to mask her worry.

Not for the body, but Shepard.

* * *

**Shoutout to the Courier Ranger Armor mod which I politely plagiarized for some personal detail on the elite riot helmet.(_Benny was here_ message).**

**And in case it wasn't already made obvious, the Courier's wearing customized Elite Riot Gear.**

**Next up: Taylor shows off a _few_ items to Shepard, before she steps foot on Omega.**

**Big question: would you prefer I keep making author's notes after chapters, or should I put them up on some public site so as to not ruin immersion of the chapters? Open to suggestions, cause I got no idea which site to use, honestly.**

**Oh, and as always, leave constructive feedback (or just compliment me if you want, I won't hold it against you).**


	5. I've seen things you wouldn't believe

**So sorry I didn't answer your reviews in chapter four. I feel like it'd be too late to do it now with this fifth one up.**

**Anyway, don't let me keep you.**

* * *

The door hissed, and Karin swiveled her seat to see Shepard enter. The hand which whipped up to her temple in an absent salute as she passed Jacob, who stood guard outside the med-bay, fell to her waist.

"You've freshened up," she said.

A smile that finally reached the eyes formed on Shepard's face. "And returned," she proclaimed, "with Serrice Ice Brandy in hand." She raised the cerulean bottle approaching.

"You didn't!" Now, Chakwas was smiling as well.

It was so rare to see the otherwise serene doctor so excited, Shepard had to keep from laughing.

Finally, something she could find joy in today.

The datapad was tossed onto the doctor's desk, and the bottle was handed from one's grip to another's. "I had EDI order after we docked. Turns out some club in Omega had it."

"Oh, thank you, Shepard," Chakwas said, turning the bottle in her hands with a longing look that could have been regretful if not for her mirth. "You know, I always regretted not opening the original bottle the first time around."

She looked up from the bottle to the Commander, an indulgent look in her eyes, like they were sharing in mischief.

"I don't intend to make the same mistake again. But, I need to be sober enough to care for our guest." She raised the bottle slightly. "I believe I could do with some assistance in emptying it."

"You crack open the bottle, I'll get the glasses," Shepard said, leaving with a smile and returning with it. An addition of two glasses in hand.

Amused, she noticed the window had been dimmed.

Jane plopped down on her chair and Karin lowered onto her own.

She tugged at the cork until it gave way with a _pop_!

The blue liquid foamed lightly at its surface. She tilted the mouth of the bottle over the edge of their glasses.

Add an ice cube, and Shepard thought it looked like they were holding miniature North Poles.

Despite her observation, it ran warm down her throat.

Shepard reclined, eyes closing. _I needed this._

"Didn't the Illusive Man say time is of the essence?" Chakwas asked, leaning back as well. She then whispered cozily, "_Mmm. I've missed that burn._"

Jane wouldn't, but alcohol is alcohol, and she felt like she needed an entire liquor store with all that was happening.

"Fuck him," she said, opening her eyes.

"Not with a ten-foot pole and inside a hazmat," the doctor retorted.

She laughed lightly.

From the relieved look on the doc's face, and the desperately light sensation within her chest, it had been a while.

Their conversation, as was its wont, flowed easily, smoothly into careless topics both relevant and irrelevant, long and short. They wouldn't have it any other way.

She glanced at the body. The doc seemed to have done a good job of securing the straps, but you could never be too careful.

Chakwas didn't seem to notice her looks, and kept talking. Shepard loved their recollections.

They laughed remembering the time Wrex was challenged to arm-wrestling by Garrus, unknowing of the latter's little subterfuge until the biotic joint of his Battlemaster armor locked at the elbow (with the help of Tali, unbeknownst to him) and a small splotch of oil used for the Mako's wheels slid his arm off the table (courtesy of Vakarian himself).

Then they laughed harder at when Wrex figured he didn't need his right elbow to charge Garrus into a bloody, blue pulp, and initiated a chase that lasted just under a minute and involved the turian and the krogan both frantically scrambling up down the various vehicles in the bay, including the Mako.

It had ended when Shepard, in her belated prudence, finally decided to stop laughing at her surveillance screen and go down to break it up.

Chakwas hadn't known about that, and laughed even louder when she told her.

Shepard glanced at the body, and back.

Tali's problems and eventual adjustment to the Normandy was a fond topic. But the memory of Freedom's Progress left a hint of bitterness in Shepard's mouth, worse than the drink she clasped in her lap.

Liara's juvenile naiveté and social awkwardness was as adorable as it was ripe for mocking, and it helped distract Shepard. They didn't feel bad about it; Liara would probably laugh along with them at the memories. She had grown, by the end.

_How different would she be now?_ Shepard thought. _How different is everyone else? _

How bad did her dying fuck them all up? Joker and Chakwas seemed the same, but she saw they were different. Not for the worse, but regardless.

The doctor wisely didn't bring up Ash or Kaidan directly, and Jane was only thankful, even knowing she deliberately avoided them.

Instead, she brought up Jenkins, of all people. Shepard was in accord with the doctor on this one, she had only fond memories of the late corporal.

A particular memory had the doctor animated more than usual. "I thought Alenko's biotic display might have broken Jenkins's back," she said, voice thick with cheer, and stood up with arms raised, "but suddenly, he pops up and yells '_That was awesome_!'"

Their laughter must have been heard through the entire level, but they didn't care.

The doc's smile was calm, and Jane was grinning like an idiot.

Chakwas sighed. "Oh, Jenkins. Soldiers like him make the Alliance great." Her smile faded. "Cerberus lacks the same… enthusiasm."

_And soul. It's all pragmatism, a machine. Like a ticking clock._

Her scar began to itch.

A hand came up absently to scratch at it. Her own.

…She thinks.

"Yeah…"

The doctor must have noticed her tone, and chose to talk about her time after the Normandy's destruction.

For Shepard, she had no time then, so she couldn't reciprocate. Just sit there, and listen.

There was a feeling of disconnect when she processed what she was being told, watching not even her own life in her head like it was a movie, like the world it played out in had left her behind.

_Because it had,_ she realized. No, she recalled this.

It should have been an obvious concept by now, and yet it took seconds for her to remember that the reason she was so out of it was that she _had_ died.

Sometimes it felt like she was in that limbo between sleep and wake, when you were just falling into the soft, feather pillow of the former, or rising to the jolting of the latter. It was messing her up.

She glanced at the armored figure again. Guy didn't make a lick of fucking sense, and yet he was the only thing she was sure of.

Sure, that he was more than just a corpse.

"I believe it's time you talked, Commander."

She blinked, looking back to her friend. "Doc?"

"I know it's not like you to insult my intelligence, so don't. You drift off with that thousand yard stare every time you look at him. You might not be awake enough to notice, but I am, ma'am. You didn't respond for twenty-four seconds while in the midst of a highly radioactive zone – the origin point of a potential bomb unknown even to a smart AI's sensors, I might add – and, finally, your knuckles look like someone took sandpaper to it and cut it up. I won't even pretend it isn't connected with the fact that you put in a new bathroom mirror in the requisition order. Need I go on?"

She said it not-harshly, but it was a ruthless bombardment of fact that brooked no denial.

The silence was short, but thick with a tension even the brandy couldn't burn away.

Shepard slowly found her words, and the courage to speak them.

"I feel… off," she admitted.

"Off?"

"...Yeah. Like, when you try to pop a finger, but it just won't, and the joint starts aching." She sighed, and leaned forward, arms on her knees. "My bones feel out of place, and I can't trust that anything I feel is real, and it doesn't even feel like it's _my_ body. It feels like Cerberus's. And…"

The doctor leaned forward, as well. "And, what?" Warmth was on her face. A comforting one that drew her in, where the pity of shrinks would've put her on her guard.

Made Shepard actually _want_ to talk, not keep it inside.

She wasn't an idiot, either. She knew she wasn't in the right state of mind (or even body) to bottle things up.

"I think… Cerberus may be inside me," she admitted.

She sounded insane to her own ears, but with Karin's attentive calm, you'd have thought she was making perfect sense. "Because Cerberus brought you back."

"...Yeah." She shouldn't have been surprised. "Lawson said Tim didn't change anything, wanted the same Shepard from two years ago… Yeah, right."

Chakwas looked confused. "I'm sorry. Tim?"

"Oh. Uh, the Illusive Man." She shrugged rather sheepishly. "Nickname. Came up with it today."

She smiled. "How clever. I like it."

Jane's lips twitched into the faint shadow of a warm expression. "Thanks."

The doctor continued for her, sagely. "So, you don't trust Operative Lawson's words."

"It's Cerberus, Doc. I don't–" Her words froze. But she swallowed her hesitation, and waded on. "I don't know if any of this is real."

Chakwas was surprised by that. "No?"

"How can it be? I feel like I'm dreaming everything up." She scowled, hating that her voice trembled.

After everything she had endured, it was shameful. Her voice had been steady and strong through worse things.

But it was the fucking uncertainty. You weren't safe or falling, but teetering on the razor-thin edge. Was it a shave or a deep cut?

The wait was the worst.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._ Tick, went the machinery under her skin.

"I'm filled with their tech, I got a military-grade Cerberus AI watching–" She stopped herself, glancing toward _him_.

"And yet you trust me enough to tell me this? Being a… hallucination, let's call it?"

Jane's eyes returned. She shrugged slackly. "I got to tell someone."

"I see. But Shepard, isn't it odd that if Cerberus has put you in a dream, they'd admit to reviving you with their own, potentially controlling cybernetics, and putting you on a ship with their smart AI? If they are smart enough to make you hallucinate, why would they make it so you'd suspect something like this at all?"

"I don't know." She sighed, burying her head in her hands. "Look, Doc, I could go on all day and not come up with a single answer as to the who, the why, or the how of all this. Anything or anyone is possible."

"Fair enough; but if so, then the issue isn't the who, the why, or the how, at all." The doc's hand came up to her own cheek, her eyes brushing along like reading a book of her own thoughts. "Tell me, what prompted this line of thought? What truly started this? The ignition, let's call it." she asked.

Hesitation made her words waver in her throat, but after a breath they left her steadily. "I've felt the detachment since I woke up…"

A single eyebrow rose on Chakwas's face. "But not the hallucination?"

Jane shook her head. "I meant what I said, this morning."

She frowned with confusion.

"The ship _does_ feel empty without them, just like you said. But… that wasn't really what was on my mind. It's actually what I wanted to talk to you about after. When we brought… the body in."

The Doc's curiosity was peaked. She leaned forward so slightly Jane almost didn't notice.

"I had a dream, last night. It was real vivid. And for the first time in my life, I was lucid."

"Lucidity is as common as its absence, but you mentioned it was vivid?"

Shepard nodded.

"In what way?"

"Like… I can remember it," she answered. "Completely."

"And you have no memory of this ever happening before?"

"Doc, I know when I've had a nightmare or a dream, but I'm lucky if I remember the last five seconds of it. This dream? I remember _everything_! Hours of a nightmare I've been sifting through."

"What was the dream about?"

_This is it. Someone else is finally gonna know what's inside Commander Shepard's fucked up, manufactured head._

Her arm rose stiff, all but one of her fingers curled into her palm. The remaining finger pointed towards the still, black figure.

"Him."

The proclamation rang loudly to Shepard, like a tolling bell, but what it heralded she didn't know.

Karin's eyes followed her finger, then to its target.

When they found him, they widened.

…All that followed it was silence.

There was no relief, or catharsis. Shepard just felt crazier.

The doctor's gaze swiveled back to her. "You dreamt of _him_?"

She nodded. Her face was stone. "It started out like a nightmare, I… I don't want to talk about it. But near the end of it, he was there. He was standing, asleep at first." She stood and walked to the bed.

Karin followed.

Jane pointed at the eyes. "He woke up, and they glowed red."

It was an ominous statement, but all she could think of was the beautiful creature she had seen at the end of the dream.

"Are you sure you dreamt of him?" Doc asked behind.

"I've considered every single possibility, Doc. Maybe my brain is still traumatized and retroactively replaced my memories of some fever dream with this guy I found today, but... I remember thinking about him this morning when we were eating breakfast together. I remember thinking about details from the dream."

_I remember blue eyes that I didn't hate, that didn't belong to husks or the Illusive Man. Eyes that saw everything, and knew._

She faced the doctor. "Tell me, Karin. What does that mean? Either I'm telepathically connected to this guy, I'm crazy, or something worse's going on. Which one do you wanna bet on?"

Instantly, the older woman crossed her arms, an expression on her face right at home whenever she set herself to figuring out a medical solution to a problem.

People always took the good things for granted, and they often never realized it until it was too late. Shepard was relieved to be able to say it wasn't too late to cherish the doctor, and her problem-solver attitude.

"_Let's see… The scans of your cybernetics matched with Cerberus's provided report of the Lazarus Project,_" she muttered quietly. "_Complete transparency with modifications. So cybernetically induced hallucinations are out of the question. The scans of your brains showed a completely healthy mind – physically, in any regard. This tells me no diseases, as well as no external manipulation either. Cerberus couldn't have manipulated the reports so thoroughly and in such a specialized manner. EDI's made for warfare, and shackled, so she couldn't have accessed and falsified records._"

Karin froze – perfect! That meant she has an idea, Jane knew!

She looked up at her. "Commander, is everything about him the same? Look at him and tell me any immediate differences you see from your memories of him in your dream."

She looked at him. Somehow, only now was it apparent.

_Oh, shit. _

"He didn't have any of those markings on his helmet," she realized. "No writing. No tally marks either."

"No?"

"No. He didn't even have that bullet hole painted on. I would've noticed." She stared down at those cold, black eyes. Then, she had a realization. "His neck guard!" She pointed. "It didn't have '_Rest in Peace_' painted on, either."

Chakwas strode intently to her desk, and leaned down to turn on her computer. "Can you tell me what was on the throat guard originally, beneath the odd coat of paint?"

With the doctor's clicking keyboard in the background, she thought hard on it, struggling. In the end, something vague came up. "Three characters!" She hesitated. "I-I can't remember if it said One-O-C, or I-O-C."

The doctor, rattled, looked at her with wide eyes. "Look at this, Shepard."

She slid across, and leaned down. Her eyes widened at what Chakwas pointed at.

"This is the report. Scans showed traces of paint pressed of the letters I, O, and C onto the metal of his collar."

She remained there, staring, wondering. "Holy shit..."

"Indeed," said Chakwas. "Holy shit."

"I dreamt him, Doc. I have never seen him before, and I dreamt him. The night before he happened."

She said nothing to that.

"What does this mean?"

"I don't know, Shepard," the doctor said, regretful, like she could be blamed for being the bearer of bad news. "But no one's inside your head."

Jane felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.

She was turned around, and found herself face-to-face Chakwas, who gently squeezed her arms. "I know you. You died, and all the Collectors have managed to do is bring back an even angrier-than-usual Commander Shepard."

A nervous laugh snuck up on Jane.

Chakwas continued. "Putting aside that not even Cerberus could possibly have the technology to mind-control someone so perfectly that there's no chance of them breaking free, or seeing through the ruse, you're _Commander Shepard_. You know me, I'm no star-struck fan expecting worlds of you. You're mortal. And I'm a made follower, whose loyalty you've earned, mortality and all. I've grafted skin over your burns, plucked shrapnel from your flesh, closed your wounds wherever they opened, more than anyone else has. I've seen your resolve. A true follower under Anderson, and a truer commander of so many more. You have mettle like metal, and are as cunning as they make them. Ask anyone who has ever drudged through Hell at your side, and you'll hear only more."

A smile spread across Shepard's slowly heartening face.

Chakwas looked to the bed. "I don't know why he's here, or what your dream means." She turned back. "But if this is all some dream-reality, I know you'll break free of it, because if it has even the smallest chink in its armor – which it must have, if you're even allowed to consider the possibility that none of this is real – then you'll find it. I know better than to expect anything less."

Just like that, she felt like she'd found her stability again, an anchor she could hold onto for dear life.

Even if it was temporary, it was what exactly Shepard needed.

"Isn't encouraging delusions unhealthy for your patients, doc?" she joked. "I might just believe I _am_ dreaming."

Chakwas gave her a dry look. "You're no idiot, Shepard. You know that if nothing is indeed real, you'll accomplish just that obsessing over it. But I will tell you again, even if it should go without saying: You are _not_ dreaming. You are awake. You're here. _I'm_ here. If you want, I'll tell you everything that's happened in my life since you died, in detail. Mistakes, biases, and faulty memories all. It comes with the reality of being a human."

Goddammit. Sometimes Jane wished she wasn't a commander so she could just hug Karin and never let her go.

Another person, she realized, she took for granted.

_But it's not too late._ That realization was an elating one.

"Thank you," Shepard said, earnestly. "I know I can be evasive with serious topics, more often than sometimes. But, I can't put into words how much this does for me. This means so much, Karin." She had to say it again, "Thank you."

Chakwas smiled warmly. "But of course. What are friends for?" She looked to the bed. "That leaves him."

It did, and for all the information EDI dug up on the extranet for all items they found, Shepard was no closer to figuring out what the hell was up with him, and why he was in her head.

Karin cleared her throat. "If you want my recommendation, get out of the Normandy. Go into Omega, go about your missions, and when you've cleared your head and shown these Cerberus amateurs how a true champion for humanity goes about saving everyone's behinds, come back. I'll have figured something out the next time you come here. Does that sound good?"

"Good enough, I guess." She took a breath, and sighed it out relieved. "Alright. I'll see you later." The commander gestured to the datapad on Chakwas's desk. "If you want, there's his paraphernalia and all the items the crew brought back. Interesting stuff, but after the third item I knew it couldn't help me understand anything than Lawson's or EDI's theories did. See if it helps you with anything. Any matches with your scans, and so on."

Interested, she swept it up in her hand. "I'll make sure to be assiduous in my reading. Goodbye, Commander."

"See ya, Doc."

The door opened, and closed, and Chakwas was alone.

Plus (a very interesting) one.

She let herself fall down in her seat, reclined as her eyes found the first item of the list and her lips found the edge of her glass.

* * *

"I'm receiving quarantine warnings about the slums where Dr. Mordin Solus runs the clinic," EDI provided. "Anticipate resistance at the transport station. I have also accessed messages between mercenary groups regarding plans to deal with Archangel. There's a recruiting station at Afterlife that may have information on him."

Shepard sighed, staring at the back of the Aria T'Loak's batarian. "And here I was going to be petty and put off going there."

Taylor gave a snort.

Ahead, she saw the back of a yellow armored man with a head of peppered hair. As she neared, she heard a voice in front of the man, begging, "Ugh… Please…"

The man's movement was sudden. A knee to the gut, and a pained grunt. The voice – a batarian – fell to the ground.

Taylor shook his head, but Lawson seemed unfazed.

"Please," the alien baritone of the batarian thrummed. "You have to help–"

A foot filled his face, and the man's voice, even gruffer than the batarian's, grunted, "No one said you could talk, jackass."

"You Zaeed Massani?"

He turned around. The first thing she noticed was the milky right eye, resting between a twice-curving scar that ran from his right brow, to crest around the eye to below his cheekbone, before swerving down again to finally end at his jawline.

The second thing she noticed was the smaller scar across his chin.

The third thing was his good eye, sizing her up. "Yeah. That's me. You must be Commander Shepard. I hear we have a galaxy to save."

"Something like that." She questioned him on the mission and his relation with Cerberus. He'd done his homework, and all he cared for was the money. Good thing, too, or she'd have someone else to keep an eye on.

That still left the batarian. "I was told I'd be picking up one contact, not two." She glanced down at the unfortunate. "What'd he do?"

"Pissed off someone rich enough to hire me to go after him. And for my '_bring 'em in alive_' rates, even."

"Please," the batarian said, "I didn't do i–"

The same foot as last time had a reunion with his face. "I said shut it."

She didn't bother asking what he did. She held out her hand, and the mercenary took it with a firm, respectable grip. "Good to have you, Zaeed. We have a lot to do."

He took out his pistol, and waved the prisoner to his feet. "That's what they tell me. I assume the Illusive Man told you about our arrangement?"

_Arrangement? _She frowned. "No, he didn't." She turned to the Cerberus operatives with a cold glare. "I guess he decided to leave that part out of the dossier."

Taylor shrugged, and Lawson shook her head.

She believed them, infuriatingly. Son of a bitch can't even give her transparency for the smallest thing.

"Good thing I asked, then."

"We'll see." She looked back at the merc. "What'd Tim leave out?"

He frowned with confusion. "Tim?" Then, he thought about it. "Ah. Clever."

She had to admit, she was surprised. "Not too dull yourself."

"Anyway, picked up a mission a while back, just before _Tim _contacted me. Heard of Vido Santiago?" She shook her head. "He's the head of the Blue Suns. Runs the whole organization. Seems he recently captured an Eldfell-Ashland refinery on Zorya and is using their workers for slave labor. The company wants it dealt with."

Shepard felt a scowl on her face. "You had me at slavers."

Massani gave a laugh. "Half of the Blue Suns there oughta be batarians. Just imagine they were at Elysium, and pull off another Skyllian Blitz. Hell, most of them probably _were_. Bloody batarians."

Fittingly, the prisoner chose to run off at that moment, though the timing was more comical than practical, as Massani, already holding his pistol in hand, pointed lazily and fired a round into its leg.

"_Can't even make good prisoners_," he muttered, and began walking over to it. "I better turn this thing in before it starts to stink."

Jane felt no small measure of shame when she caught herself smiling, and stopped.

If only batarians didn't make it so goddamn easy for her to hate them.

She didn't doubt if she got a look into the common people of the Batarian Hegemony, she'd change her tune for some of them, but the exemplar dragged away limping by Zaeed was hardly tugging at her heartstrings.

"Tim?" Miranda asked.

"The Illusive Man."

Taylor's eyes widened. "Oh… that's clever."

"Thanks," she said, dryly.

They went ahead until a big, neon purple sign screaming '_AFTERLIFE_' loomed over them. The club inside was as seedy as the station outside, murk and grime hiding behind the glares of garish lights wherever you looked. She might have made some joke about how it was her kind of place, but it really wasn't.

It just made her feel like Lawson did here – like she needed a shower in addition to normal decontamination.

"Who did you put on guard duty?" she asked Taylor without looking back.

"You mean by the med-bay?" She nodded. "Hadley's the best fighter. Guy can keep grace under pressure, and he's got good eyes. Even better ears, from what I hear. I thought since Dr. Chakwas shouldn't be bothered for nothing, it'd be best to have someone that can keep watch inside the med-bay without going inside."

She looked back at him, astonished at the thought he put into it. "Nice work."

He smiled, unable to hide his pride. "Thanks. The body we found clearly had you bothered, and I decided to trust your instinct."

She quickly turned her head forward to where she was walking. "That's good thinking, Taylor."

Either that was that or the Cerberus ops knew she was trying hard not to think about the body, because they didn't say another word on the subject.

Shepard doubted Lawson and Taylor missed the gaudy VIP section extended over half the club, so the commander wordlessly strode to it.

Up three sets of stairs, the final one inside the VIP room, and she saw an asari in a white vest that only reach down to her breasts, and a black outfit hugged her form. She helped herself to a short glance at her impressive butt, before she put business in her mind, and reached the top.

"That's close enough," the asari said.

To her flanks, a turian and a batarian pointed their guns at her head.

She looked uninterestedly at them.

The asari shook her head, and they holstered their guns.

_What the hell was the point of that?_

"Stand still," the batarian ordered, and started his omni-tool. Her holographic figure appeared, clearly scanning.

"If you're looking for weapons," Shepard began, took out her sidearm, "you're not doing a very good job."

It was the asari that answered. "Can't be too careful with dead spectres. That could be anyone wearing your face."

She suppressed a frown. "I was told you'd be the person to talk to if I had questions."

The batarian's omni-tool deactivated. "They're clean." He stepped off to the side.

Finally, the asari turned away from the view of the Afterlife and to her. "Depends on the question."

"You run Omega?"

Aria gave a laugh, like she told a joke.

Importantly, the woman turned around and spread her arms like they were going to sprout feathers and take her to the sky artificial sky. "I _am_ Omega!"

_Christ on a crutch…_

Shepard's irritation raised an unimpressed brow. She didn't bother trying to hide it.

Aria saw, and didn't seem to care. "But you need more. Everyone needs more something, and they all come to me. I'm the boss, CEO – queen if you're feeling dramatic."

_I wouldn't be the only one._

"It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule."

She sat herself down surprisingly gracefully on her sofa.

"Three guesses," Shepard said, narrowly interrupting the asari. "There are no rules, don't fuck with Omega, or don't fuck with you." She mocked a ponderous look. "In your case, the last two're redundant, aren't they?"

Aria smiled, a barely noticeable glint in her eyes. But Shepard wasn't the best shot in the Alliance for having dull eyes herself. "Wrong, right, and right." She gestured for her to sit on sofa.

_She didn't pull a Fight Club rule._ _Guess it'd be too easy._

Shepard walked over and sat down, glancing at Miranda and Jacob as she did to make sure they weren't accosted.

"So," Aria said, grabbing her attention, "what can I do for you?"

She leaned forward. "First things first, I'm trying to track down Archangel."

The turian vigilante, who appeared not long after Garrus Vakarian disappeared from the Citadel.

Maybe she was just torturing herself, but why wouldn't she think that? His operations weren't exactly small-time if Tim recommended him, and his almost idealistic choice of criminal targets only urged her musings on.

It _had_ to be him.

"You and half of Omega. You want him dead, too?"

"No," she said. "Why's everyone after him?"

"He thinks he's fighting on the side of good. There is no good side to Omega. Everything he does pisses someone off. It's catching up to him."

That settled it. It _was_ Vakarian."What's that mean?"

"He's in a bit of trouble right now."

"That have something to do with the recruiting station down below?"

"You checked it out?" she asked, as surprised as deadpan, somehow.

"If I did, would I be asking about it?"

The surprise fell away but the deadpan remained. "I suppose not. Yes, the local merc groups are hiring anyone with a gun to take him down. Right now, they've got him cornered, but… you've heard the saying about cornered animals. I'm impressed. He lasted longer than I thought, and the death toll just keeps rising for the mercs."

"What mercs, exactly?"

"Every major player in Omega. Blue Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack. Unless they're at war, you'll never see them together. But one thing they hate more than each other is Archangel."

Okay, if this wasn't Vakarian and his habit of pissing powerful assholes off, Shepard would seriously be stabbing someone.

Jane stood up, and turned to walk down the stairs. "Sounds like I don't have much time."

"You have all the time in the world," Aria said behind her, "Archangel… not so much."

"See ya, Omega!" she called out, with a lax wave over her shoulder.

* * *

The Blue Sun approached, his four eyes combing Shepard and her squad. "It's about time they send me someone who looks like they can actually fight." He jerked his head backwards, to the direction where gunshots rang through the murky streets. "They tell you what we're up against?"

"The recruiter was a little vague," she bluffed, just in case he had actually left something out. With mercs, you never knew.

"We wouldn't get many hires if everyone knew the truth."

_I knew it. Son of a bitch._

The situation was dire for both sides – mercs and freelancers had been gunned down on an exposed bridge by Archangel, who was sitting in an elevated and superior position. What she didn't enjoy hearing was that he had begun making mistakes.

You needed only a single missing scale in the underbelly, and a spear thrust would slay the dragon.

An analogy that was comically truer of turians.

When she asked the plan, all she could hear was that they wouldn't be able to help Archangel by sabotaging infiltration teams.

"Sounds like a suicide mission. We'd be bait," Jacob said, unknowingly pointing out to Shepard the more immediate danger.

Expose themselves in the kill-zone while infiltration teams go in from the back? _Of course_ it was suicide!

How could she have missed that?

A rhetorical question. She knew damn well how: she had to stop thinking about Garrus – this was a _mission_.

_Focus, you're not a fucking_ _rookie_, she told herself, frustrated. _ All it takes is one mistake, and everyone pays. It won't matter if it's Garrus or not when you're lying on the ground with a round between your eyes._

Shepard looked back at the batarian with a scowl, angrier at herself than him.

"Pretty much," he shrugged in response. She had to respect his honesty. "But you look smart. I think you can handle it."

"Now you're just buttering us up."

"Is it working?" he asked dryly. The batarian pointed towards an alley to his left. "Head up the boulevard and get to the third barricade. Talk to Sergeant Cathka. He'll tell you where to go."

That was good and all – even useful – but they wanted to go where they weren't supposed to.

Before the commander left, she finessed as much information out of him as she could get without raising any one of his four eyebrows in suspicion. She was surprised to find him willing to even give her the location of the bosses.

But then it she recalled, again when it should have been obvious. _I'm a dead woman. They've forgotten who Commander Shepard is._

This time, she didn't lament it.

The Blue Sun left Shepard and her squad to their devices.

She laughed a(n ironic) villainous laugh in her head.

"Well, we might have a way in now," Jacob said. "But getting out could be interesting."

"Focus, let's find him first. Then we'll figure out how to get back." In most professions, that advice could have been detrimental, even idiotic depending on the circumstance, but as a soldier it was more often than not the best you could do.

A good soldier knew how to make their shitty circumstance turn its shittiness to their advantage, that is to say towards the enemy. It wasn't as easy as turning a claymore's front towards the enemy, but she'll make do.

Because by being recruited by the Blue Suns themselves, Shepard and the Cerberus ops had been given a free shot at the mercenaries's collective Achilles's heel.

Shepard scrutinized each heel she could find.

Jaroth was the most cautious one, and arrogant without being proud.

The most despicable form of the combination, but at least it was effective. He hadn't fallen for her bait.

"So you're just going to hide here while we freelancers get killed," she said after hearing the plan of going in to finish off Archangel after the freelancers were taken out.

"Precisely." He took no umbrage at Shepard's veiled insult in the slightest way. "You're paid to be a distraction. Nothing more. Whether you survive or not is up to you."

Shepard stared.

Lawson and Taylor eyed the mercs surrounding them cautiously, readily. Their hands drifted unnoticeably to their guns.

But suddenly, Shepard couldn't keep suppressing the smile.

His brow rose in surprise.

He saw in her genuine amusement. She left without a word.

Garm was hard to miss, even for a krogan.

She didn't need any manipulation to figure his type out – he was a krogan, and Blood Pack. More – the head of the serpent.

Just to prove a point, he obliterated the adjacent vorcha's head into a gory bomb, right in front of them.

His smile was cruel when he saw her lack of reaction.

The only interesting thing about him was that he fought Archangel one-on-one, but throughout his story, instead of seeing Archangel battling it out heroically with some bastard krogan warlord, all Shepard could see in her head was Garrus cunningly trying to eliminate a bloodthirsty butcher, at constant danger.

_Focus_, she reminded herself. _Archangel, not Vakarian. Not yet._

Tarak, the Blue Suns's heel… wasn't taking visitors.

They weaved a path through the murky streets and their countless, dark alleys.

Along the way, EDI gave them advice over the comms that, though smart, were redundant.

Her proposition - sabotage - was the go-to in situations like this, and with access to enemy gunships and heavy mechs it was like a kid in a candy shop, except the kid was a killer and the candy the countless weapons and/or ways he could choose to efficiently eliminate enemies.

_I've always had something of a sweet tooth,_ Jane quipped to an audience of one: herself.

When they emerged from another alley of the maze that was Omega, they arrived at the final barricade where the kill-zone was; a bridge across which several scores of bodies lying in pools of blood were strewn across. Shepard passed it, and found Cathka by an idle gunship, soldering.

Almost perfectly, he introduced himself as if in a cheesy action movie akin to her own little mental quotes like the candy shop one.

"Cathka?"

He leaned back from his work and said, "_Sergeant_ Cathka…" He tapped his black visor, and it cleared to show his black batarian eyes. "Ah… you must be the group Salkie mentioned. You're just in time."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Salkie?"

"You met him when you were dropped off. He radioed to say you were coming. You three kind of stand out from most of the other freelancers. Anyway… The infiltration team is about to give the signal. Archangel won't know what hit him."

He walked over to his desk – where an electric tool lay, she noticed, sparking. "Got any questions? This may be your last chance."

She had just enough to ask that she found out the plan in detail, that the ship wasn't at a hundred percent yet - and that he let his guard down, turned his back.

She grabbed the electric tool, and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're working too hard."

The Blue Sun's screams came as suddenly as the tool was jammed into his back. His violently convulsing body wracked painfully, and soon started to smoke.

The smell was even worse than his screams.

Only one would stay with her after today.

She strode past her howling, brutal handiwork, and just as Shepard heard an armored body falling to the ground behind her, she heard Taylor whisper, "_Goddamn_."

"Focus, people. Things are only going to get hairier from here."

"Alright, Commander."

They walked up the barricade, and jumped down after the freelancers.

She saw the muzzle flash in the upper window of the building before them, and heads started popping with brutal swiftness.

Shepard raised her rifle, the Cerberus ops following suit, and started shooting.

The remaining group of four were taken by surprise, and dropped quickly before their ripping rounds.

The commander quickly aimed at the upper window – where she saw him. An blue-armored turian.

They stared, and for a moment she thought she saw him hesitate, even stop when he noticed she wasn't shooting.

_Is it you?_

"They're with Archangel! Take 'em out!"

The shots followed the words, and the trio quickly leapt behind cover.

As soon as the shots took them for futile, being behind cover, and turned to Archangel, Shepard shouted, "Fire!"

She stood up, sweeping her rifle around.

Accelerator rounds ripped through the first group of Blue Suns that jumped down after them.

The ones that followed learned to give their advancing comrades cover fire, but Shepard popped her head up in an unbeatable game of Whack-A-Shepard and dispatched them with burst fire.

Soon their replacements feared going up.

It became wave after wave of blue and white, and the sound of shots would have become monotonous if not for the dangers they warned of. The waves pushed them back, ignoring that more blue-and-white fell than not, until finally Shepard and her squad's backs hit the proverbial wall. Burning rounds shot over her head.

The Cerberus ops gave fire, sounds of biotic energy reached the commander's ears, and the shots redirected away from her.

She leaned forward and peered past her cover. She saw a freelancer's still face staring at her. Shepard forced herself to look at his waist, and saw some round, black ball. "Cover me!"

Miranda stood up and fired as long as she dared, until her biotic shield started to falter, and flicked a quick warp before ducking. "Taylor's pinned down!"

Lawson gave her more than enough time, and Shepard had the ball.

She hit it against the ground to make a clanking noise and shouted "_Grenade!_"

The object arched all the way across the bridge, and sent the backmost Blue Suns into a panic.

Before giving them even two seconds to realize the bluff, Shepard leapt out of cover and shot down seven mercs running for their own.

Only four remained, and before Taylor could so much as get out of cover and take a shot, Shepard took out two, and Archangel the last pair.

_Then_ they heard the gunfire coming from the building.

Shepard's head flicked around, and saw the turian in the window wasn't there any longer.

"In the building!"

There was a score of freelancers left, but they were amateurs, and at best Shepard helped save Archangel some rifle ammo taking them out.

The quiet that followed the last gunshot was almost eerie. It was a silence she never got used to, so she quickly filled it.

"Sound off."

"I'm alright," Taylor said.

"I'm good, Commander," Lawson added. They approached her. "That was a rather obvious bluff with the supposed grenade. I'm surprised they fell for it. That is no comment on your ability, it was some clever thinking. But _they_ were professional killers."

"And they recognize other killers when they see them," Shepard pointed out. "They might expect those kinds of tricks from cool-headed freelancers who've never shot a gun before, but not us." She crossed her arms, and said facetiously, "You heard it from Salkie, we _ooze_ cold badass. And sexy. Mostly me."

Taylor tried not to laugh.

"I never expected Commander Shepard to be something of a trickster," Lawson said, smiling.

"Well, rumors have a way of painting every war hero ever as an unstoppable bulwark."

Taylor shrugged, "Whatever you wanna call it, she saved my ass." He gave her solemn, thankful nod. "Thanks, Shepard."

"Hey, Cerberus or not, you're under my command now," she said. "We're soldiers, and we watch each others backs."

There had been tension between her and Lawson and Taylor – the two most adherent to Cerberus – on the ship. But out here, in the field, she felt that tension melted away at her words. She had to let them know she wasn't going to toss their lives away just because of where their current loyalties lay.

Jacob's eyes were thankful, and he opened his mouth to say something.

_"Clang! Clang! Clang!"_ the building said in quick succession.

Shepard turned around.

_"Clang! Clang! Clang!"_

_Oh, right._ She jogged up the stairs. "Archangel!"

_"Clang! Clang! Clang!"_

They arrived up on the second floor, and followed the reverberations to the source. It rang in trinity again, muffled behind a door.

Her gloved hand reached out, and the green panel blinked before the door disassembled.

The turian sat crouched by the window, back to them. His eyes scoping something out.

"Archangel?" she said in a low voice.

He raised a hand for silence, eye not leaving his scope. The hand returned to grip his rifle.

It gave a quick, quiet hiss. A distant body fell.

Archangel's rifle folded, and he let it lean against the wall. He walked over to a crate as Miranda and Jacob entered the room.

The turian reached for his helmet.

Shepard's breath hitched like a wedge in a door.

The helmet made a soft noise as it unlatched, and was lifted off. His back was to her, so she still couldn't see.

_Goddammit._ She had to stop herself from jerking forward.

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure anymore.

But then, he sat himself on the crate, facing them.

"Garrus!" she exclaimed.

Fuck the _Commander_, Jane let herself stomp forward and grab at the turian in a desperate embrace, uncaring of their audience.

Garrus made a panicked noise as her weight almost pushed him off his seat, before he found his balance. She laughed.

"Jane," he said.

She quickly let him go – _forced_ her arms off him, honestly – and looked at him with a forming grin. "_Goddammit_, bird-man! I knew it was you!"

He allowed his own mandibles to move amused – a movement she had to work on understanding.

Looking into his eyes, it was like nothing had changed. It was the refreshing, fraternizing attitude she could _feel_ from him, that would have bordered on insubordination in any other captain's crew. They both had worked to make it surface, but it did, and such a close, true friend was precisely what she had needed during that time in her life.

She needed it even more now.

For a moment, she was on the hunt for Saren again, so busy trying to save the galaxy she'd picked up a patchwork, motley band of galactic outcasts, who survived more close calls together than they could count on their differing amounts of fingers and toes.

Garrus and Jane had become thick as thieves. He was the only one that more than Joker encouraged her and supported her no matter what, and helped pull her head out of her ass when needed.

But… was she misunderstanding his smile?

_It seems sluggish,_ she noticed.

_He's been holed up there over a day_, she remembered a Blue Sun telling her.

Shepard realized he was exhausted. His mandibles hung drowsy, almost limp from his face.

She tried to not think of her nightmare, or its manifestation currently in her ship's med-bay.

"Shepard," he said. He even sounded like he was about to pass out. "I thought you were dead." He sounded as morose as he did joyous.

"Good thing, too. Had to let you get a head start for a few years before I came back, guns blazing."

"_Guns blazing..._ and _oozing_ badass."

She masked her surprise. "Don't forget sexy."

His was a tired laughter, but unmistakably relieved. "You always had a flair for the dramatic. I won't deny that your entrance was effective, _but_ I didn't need the help," he added dryly. "Still… can't say I don't appreciate the thought."

"As sentimental as I am dramatic. Can't say I'm looking forward to get all my kills stolen again."

He made no retort, but she saw, fortunately, the look in his eyes when he realized Shepard and Vakarian were back in business again.

The silence was short.

"You okay?" she asked earnestly.

"Been better," he confessed. "But it sure is good to see a friendly face."

"What are you doing here?" Garrus was a good man, but she didn't imagine he simply up and left the Citadel just to become a vigilante.

"Getting away from bureaucracy," he said. "What else?"

"So you went from the Byzantine to the bleak. Omega, Vakarian? Of all places?"

Garrus looked around him. "I don't know what that first part means, but bleak is a definitely a word for my situation. I'm not too proud to admit it." He let out a breath. "Still, bleak is exactly why I came here. A lot of target practice. All I had to do was aim and shoot. That should tell you how much this place needed someone like me, if its reputation didn't already."

"Well, we're here to get you out."

He actually grinned. "You mean out of the frying pan and into the hellish, apocalyptic fire?"

"Apocalyptic?" she asked with mock indignation, like it was the most ridiculous idea. She shrugged innocently. "It may or may _not_ have something to do with the reapers. You don't know that"

Garrus chuckled quietly, and stood to his feet.

They quickly went about planning for a way out of here.

Unsurprisingly, it was bloody and violent.

The turian put it best, the bridge worked wonders by funneling the "witless idiots" into scope, but would turn on them just the same if they tried to get out that way.

"So we just sit here and wait for them to take us out?" Miranda snarked, like some damn rookie. Shepard turned a frown toward her, and she clammed up stiffly.

She might not have known Vakarian like Jane did, but a good leader leads by example because good followers follow the example.

Lawson was clearly too used to being a boss, and would have to learn the trait of the good follower. Otherwise, she'd have no place in Shepard's team.

Garrus, for all his tiredness, responded calmly. "It's not all that bad. This place held them off so far, and with the three of you by my side… I suggest we hold this location, wait for a crack in their defenses, and take our chances. It's not a perfect plan, but it's a plan."

Shepard didn't have a problem with it – a soldier had to make do, after all.

But that still left the question in her mind. "How'd you let yourself get into this position?"

He looked forward. Voice rigid. "Feelings got in the way of my better judgement. It's a long story." He met her eyes. "I'll make you a deal: you get me out of here alive, and I'll tell you the whole damn thing."

She smiled, hiding her concern. He'd mistake it for pity. "We need to make a deal for either?"

There was angered shouting from barricade's direction.

Fortunately, she got a smile back from him, just in time, that told her, _Of course not_.

* * *

"Hey, gimme! Come on, I haven't gotten to read it yet."

"And until I have taken your scans, nor will you."

"Come on, doc! This guy's the only interesting thing going on until Shepard gets back with Archangel and the salarian guy. I wanna know who Benny is! Actually, I wanna know who _he_ is." He pointed at the body.

"And what about Mr. Massani? He looked as though he had seen a thing or two that would no doubt _enrapture_ you."

"That guy looks like he's got war stories coming out of his _ass_ and could probably talk about them until the end of the galaxy's here. But it's not like I can get _this_ guy to talk."

"Oh, what do you want from me, Joker? EDI already said she found no likely reference. She searched every medium from books to vids. No mention of any possibly relevant Bennys."

Joker motioned dramatically from the hospital bed he laid down on. "But what if it isn't some reference? What if the guy _actually_ got shot in the head!?" Joker swept a hand in front of him. "I can already imagine it! Guy wakes up after getting shot in the head by his old partner, Benny, who takes over the merc company they both founded!–"

"Stop moving."

He stopped moving. "He chases him across the galaxy and ends up in Omega! Shooting his way through Benny's goons, cutting off their ears as trophies. But in the final moment, just when he's about to catch Benny in his evil lair…"

Karin stared at him, deadpan.

"…A _cage_ falls down around him! Benny leaves laughing an anime villain's laugh, which ends with an exaggerated gasp, and pushes down on the button of a detonator. A panel in the wall reveals a timer, which starts counting down! He whispers '_N-nani!?_' He watches helplessly as the timer hits zero... and the rest…" he swept his arm gingerly towards the armored corpse currently strapped down, "…is history."

"Oh, god help- I told you to stop moving! Now the images will come out faulty."

Joker groaned, but said nothing, knowing it was his own fault.

"You can move as long as it's not outside the bed's scanner, or it'll think your arms are amputated."

She tapped the bed's panel, and the machine whirred along with Joker's blathering mouth.

By the time he finished proclaiming the rest of his childish fantasies, the scanner had finished for a second time.

He sat up, looking at her expectantly.

"If anything about the items the crew found would give us a clue about who this Benny character is, I would have told you. If only to keep you quiet." She gestured vaguely around. "Hence, silence. From me, in any regard."

"Whatever. Are the scans at least done now?"

"They are, or I'd have your hide for sitting up."

"Sweet! Give it here, doc."

She crossed her arms. "Most certainly not."

"Why not?!" he whined immaturely.

"Because you will argue with EDI because you want to make some quip in a footnote somewhere. Keep your headaches in the cockpit where they belong, and I'll send you a copy of the report from my terminal." She took Joker by the arm, and wrapped it around her neck. "Come on."

It was not often Joker was this incoherent and unbearably annoying, but that body had the entire ship's crew up and about in hysteria.

Already more myth surrounded him than Shepard.

It's often the ones that won't, or cannot in his case, speak that have an air of mystery, Karin supposed. No way of certainty or confirmation, so their imaginations ran wild. It didn't help that every item found made it seem as though he had ran through time plucking anything he could off the ground before leaping into the next century.

She dropped Jeff off in his leather seat, and returned to her med-bay, sitting down at her desk.

Chakwas sent a copy of the item list to Joker before she brought up what few images the armor had allowed her scanners.

Anything more internal than the three imprinted characters on the throat guard was somehow shielded against imaging scans, and that had to be for a reason. If not to hide its occupant, than to keep prying eyes from the armor's internals.

As her fingers worked the 3D imaging around on the 2D monitor, she felt that same feeling of futility as she did her previous attempt to find something. More importantly, she still had the task of figuring something out for explaining Shepard's-

The monitor's speakers made a bizarre, loud noise. Her hands stopped. She tapped the speaker, but the noise sounded for a second time. She slapped it this time - violence often fixed these things, Karin had learned.

Then, a sound, similar but louder, came from behind, and Karin glanced curtly back.

She did a double-take gasping, launching to her feet.

The chair almost knocked over.

She stared at the still corpse, frozen, until courage thawed her body.

A hand on her chest, she approached slowly.

_He's strapped down,_ she thought.

It couldn't be. The radiation levels… no armor could keep that much out for that long.

At his bedside, she had to keep from trembling, her fantasy cruel. Terrible what-ifs running through her head.

It's _impossible._

The noise came again, from his direction but so faint she couldn't even be certain. He was entirely still.

She waved a hand back and forth in front of those cold, black eyes. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

She leaned in an ear to his mask, against all instinct and logic that told her to get away from him, against the screaming fear inside her.

She heard no breathing over the beating of her heart, her quiet panting.

She wondered if she had gone insane from cabin fever.

Before the thought of getting out of the med-bay and calling for security even formed in her mind, the thought was put in with a single, low mutter that was not from her own panicked breath.

Joker was probably at seventy – call it seventy-five percent, he predicted – through an argument with EDI over a harmless edit of the item list, when shouting and the patter of running boots came from behind.

He swiveled in his seat. "What the hell?"

The nameless faces of Cerberus crewmen ran back and forth within what little window of vision he had from the end of the bridge.

"EDI, what's going on?"

"A silent alarm has been sent throughout the ship. It was activated in the med-bay," EDI responded, almost sounding alert.

"Seriously?!" He spun around and immediately brought up the comms control. Before he could open the intercom, the interface displayed an incoming call from Chakwas.

He answered. "What's going on, Doc?"

"He's alive!" she exclaimed solemnly, rather than in a happy, Frankenstein kind of way.

"Who, the guy Shepard found?!" The question sounded stupid out loud, but he had to be sure.

"Yes!" she confirmed.

"Is he awake?"

"No, not as of now."

"What the hell's the crew getting so riled up about, then?"

"I requested extra security. We've no clue what he's capable of, and the ears – well, their implication goes without saying."

"You mean the implication that he's a psychopath who cuts off people's ears?"

"Your insight into the human mind is dazzling, Joker."

"Oh, ha-ha."

"Listen to me. Pass it on to Shepard, right now. Tell her that he's alive, and to get back and talk to me as soon as possible."

"Yeah, I know how passing on information works, Doc. I'm not an idiot."

"No, _listen to me_, Jeff," she urged sternly. "Tell her that it was _Chakwas_ that said he's alive, and to talk to me before _anyone_ else! She'll understand. Please, this is important."

He couldn't lie, the way she repeated it and emphasized made him uneasy, but he wasn't going to tell the doc "No."

All he _could_ say to her was, "You got it."

He heard her sigh of relief, faint, like she was trying to hide it. "Thank you."

The call ended, and his hands wasted no time opening the Commander's comms. "Hey, Commander, Dr. Chakwas–"

"_Not now!_" was all he heard before a barrage of exploding gunfire and whizzing shots from her side of the comms filled the cabin. _"I'm going to perform _genital mutilation _on the assholes who put violent vorcha and krogan in the same teams!"_

"Shit." He cut the connection.

She had her hands full. The last thing she'd want is a distraction.

Maybe if he hadn't cut the call, he'd know what the fuck happened.

No one on the ship was deaf to her bellows for the crew to make way as she and the doc rushed a blue armored turian, that looked awfully familiar, in on a stretcher.

"..._Garrus?_" He was in disbelief, as he met the turian's blue, drowsy eyes, eyes that recognized him, just before they closed.

* * *

Someone was talking.

Shepard blinked, tried to focus eyes and ears on it. But Garrus's bandaged face wouldn't let her senses go.

Her ears were dead, her smell was dead, her touch was dead. Only her eyes were alive, trying frenziedly to make sense of what she was staring at.

"Don't die on me, lizard," she thought…

The sound came again, still muffled, but louder. Angrier.

There was the hiss of an opening door, and receding footsteps.

Someone got chewed out.

She heard her own name, echoing. Repeating.

There was an absent feeling of recognition.

But she understood it when a hand, soft and firm, shook her by her shoulder.

"Jane."

Understanding finally that someone was calling for her attention, she blinked, the rest of her senses roused to life one by one.

It's the doctor, Shepard realized. She smelled Karin's perfume first.

The doctor moved into the corner of her eyes.

What should she say? What could she say?

Jane was ashamed of herself, beyond words or even comprehension. She'd never had so much trouble trying to think of something appropriate to say.

"…I found Garrus."

"I can see that," Chakwas said in a quiet voice. As long as she wasn't pitying her.

She didn't deserve pity. She'd failed her friend, given him the hope that they'd be crusading through the galaxy again, siblings-in-arms. A hawk's eye over her shoulder like a guardian angel – or is it Archangel now…?

"He'll live, Shepard."

Jane blinked, and looked up to the doctor.

For a moment, she felt shame that she even considered if the good doctor was lying to her, like she wasn't one of Jane's most trusted friends, or wasn't as devoted to the Hippocratic Oath as any other good doctor.

But it still felt good to see that look in Chakwas's eyes, confirming that she wasn't just trying to calm her down. Wiping the grime of doubt from her mind.

"…He took a rocket to the face, Doc."

"It wasn't a direct hit, and for that we can be grateful. Fragmentation only narrowly missed his vital arteries, but with Cerberus's equipment I managed to remove them successfully. He _will_ recover."

"Is he stable?"

Chakwas stared. Her eyes were worried. "Shepard, I've stabilized him four hours ago."

Shepard blinked. "What time is it?"

She looked at her omni-tool. "One-nine-three-five hours. His vitals have only gotten better."

Shepard looked to Garrus wordlessly. Only now did she notice his chest rise and fall with slow but sure breaths, after four and a half hours ago.

She buried her face in her hands. "Jesus Christ, Karin."

The doctor kneeled. "After all you've suffered in what must be so short a time, it is a wonder that you haven't completely broken down."

"But I almost did. Fucking Taylor had to shake me out of it… I lost my shit in the field, and Garrus almost died because of it. I thought the rocket was a direct hit, even when I was looking down at his face. It should have been paste – how the _fuck_ did I miss that?"

She forced herself to suffer her shame, by letting her hands slip from her face. She could feel her scars in her palms. They seemed worse.

_Let her see._

"I saw the helmet footage, Shepard. It _looked_ as though it hit him, and no one thought different. Not Operative Lawson, nor even Taylor. It was only after you ran to Garrus and turned him over on his back that they saw otherwise. You didn't see it simply because you were in shock. Who wouldn't be? Garrus is a good friend, and I'm certain they'd have all fallen apart irreparably at the sight of their own Vakarians being blown up. Your swift recovery and actions after you came out of your shock saved him and the rest of your squad. Or did you forget the part where you yet managed to shoot down a gunship. Don't let yourself forget that. You performed admirably."

Shepard didn't know what to say to that.

She felt fleeting anger, and it was fleeting because as much as it sounded like she was trying to put Shepard on a pedestal, she wasn't.

Jane _had_ saved her friend and her squad's life. But she was more than Jane.

She was Commander Shepard.

She was never a hero, deep down. When people made her out that way, it was out of her hands.

She wasn't complaining; she chose her path, if not her reputation, and if hero was the word they wanted to use, so be it.

It was the love and _trust_ between her and her friends, that could not be labeled, that mattered more than everything else.

She failed both today.

And she didn't have the luxury of being able to perform just admirably. The result of her doing so was lying in front of her, with the lower right half of his face melted.

Jane _couldn't_ fail, or falter even for a moment.

_I'm useless here. I'll just get in the way. _

Commander Shepard steeled herself, stood to leave.

"Get me an update by tomorrow."

Chakwas looked hesitant – reluctant even, but she nodded. "Of course."

She shot the doc a mordant look, and faked a smile. "Something you wanna tell me? Come on, Doc. I think I'll survive it."

The doctor sighed. "I'm sure you'll hear about it soon. But for now, eat. Rest. Before it has a chance to catch you off-guard. You'll need your energy tomorrow."

Shepard couldn't keep the fabricated smile up. "Doc?"

"Do this for both of us, yourself more than me. It's not so urgent that it can't wait until tomorrow, I'm sure."

"If you say so…" Chakwas was right about one thing. She needed her energy for tomorrow. As she moved to leave the room, she sent a final gesture of her head to the body. "Ignore him. Take care of Garrus."

She found some comfort in knowing her friend would live, and he'd be by her side in no time at all.

She went into the mess, and sat by her soldiers, eating with them after reassuring them she was alright.

But it was hard to follow their conversations, when all she could hear was Garrus's blood-choked gasps.

_He's going to be alright,_ she reminded herself.

Through the window of the med-bay, Karin turned away Shepard, and dimmed the window behind her.

_Too much has happened to her in so short a time._

She did not doubt for a moment that Shepard would pull through. But what Karin would do just to alleviate the slightest pain from her companion.

Too did the memory of how affected the Commander was by her dream stop the doctor from telling Shepard that her dream was still alive.

It was a phrase that sounded as encouraging as it did fantastical, but Karin knew better.

And she couldn't deny weakness on her own part – she had never seen Shepard pushed this far. She didn't dare, nor had she the heart to push her any further.

If Anderson was here, the Commander would find her strength again, ready to take on the galaxy at that moment's notice.

Chakwas's former captain himself had become councilman, and she knew the man; seeing Shepard would put a long-buried smile on his face.

And the idea was far from the most ridiculous. The wait-time to get in contact with a councilman would be nightmarish, but with Garrus back and looking worse for wear she'd have her hands filled with work.

Karin moved to her computer.

A noise came. Fear gripped her again, but when she turned, she realized it didn't come from the stranger.

"_…Shepard…_"

Karin almost ran to Garrus's bedside. "Mr. Vakarian! Can you hear me?"

His eyes opened blearily. "_Karin?_" he croaked.

Her smile came from the heart.

Maybe Shepard's burden could be eased quicker… and without Karin having to suffer through music on hold.

She faced the control panel of his bed, and navigated to inject painkillers in the machine's IV system. "Take it easy. You're with friends again."

"_Friends._" The sedative quickly took hold, his head swaying gently to cozy slumber.

Just sleep took him, he had given a quiet noise, too hazed to discern if it was sad or happy. "_Sidonis…_"

Chakwas hoped he would dream of his friends beside him in a firing range, trading quips and boasts.

Her head turned, all the way around to the strange man in the stranger armor.

The way Garrus said that name reminded her of the first words she heard this man utter.

"_…Veronica…_" he had sighed to her ear.

Her feet slid her to his bedside. Another name to accompany Benny.

The rampant rumors told throughout the ship only increased after the revelation that he was alive. He was fast becoming a legend in his own little right, in the Normandy if not in the galaxy.

"Who are you?" she asked, not for the first time.

Just as every other time, she expected no answer tonight.

When her fingers ran across his straps to make sure they were secured – and found that she had missed the smooth, unnoticeable cut that had separated the chest strap in two, when the eyes burned to life in two blood-red beams, when an iron hand wrapped itself around her throat and she was flung down on the ground like a ragdoll by her neck almost giving her whiplash, and the body of a monster pressed down on top of her, squeezing her until it felt as though every bone in her body would snap and crack, and a second iron grip pressed down on her screaming lips – she got an answer to a question that in that moment she wished she had never asked.

_It_ was a demon, disgorged from the cruelest depths of Inferno, come to savage her until even her paltriest and most innocent sins were punished.

Its black breath permeated her entire being with dread.

"**_I'm going to remove my hand,_**" it growled. "**_If you scream, I will make it a scream of agony._**"

* * *

**And here's the 12,000 word chapter for you!**

**I'll admit, I didn't feel satisfied with this chapter. Mind you, I made sure n****othing I wrote was ****unnecessary or irrelevant. Even as I was writing, _most_ of the time it felt good. But rereading it... I don't know. **

**Maybe because the Courier hasn't become a part of the Mass Effect story until the end, but maybe it's also better than rushing it. **

**Regardless, I wasn't going to put the chapter off any longer or delete 12,000 words. I feel like that's how good stories and ideas die, they get scrapped because of this type of thing. After all, one bad chapter probably won't ruin a whole story.**

**Maybe it's just me. Maybe it is a good chapter. **

**Let me know. ****And be honest in your reviews, d****on't think my feelings will be hurt. ****I actually want to know and improve where its needed.**

**I hope I didn't make Shepard too depressing a character with the chapter's beginning and parts of the end when she's in shock. My Shepard's not a depressing character, just depressed and traumatized from recent events, and I hope I showed that important distinction well. It's also why I added some more humor and happiness when she found Garrus, to lighten her up and show how she usually is - y'know, when she's not resurrected from a brutal death.**

**I also cut out the Courier's item list. It's coming the next chapter, a correspondence chapter, along with the crew discussing current events.**

**See you next chapter! (I'll try to actually answer reviews this time, but I can't answer Anonymous reviews, just so you all know.)**


	6. Correspondence

**The reason this chapter took so long was that the flu fucked me up for a week and a half, but I'm finally okay now except for the constant coughing so I can write again.**

**I'm so happy I managed to write the fifth chapter well enough that people loved/hated me in equal measure for (in the words of an eloquent reviewer) blue-balling them.**

**You will be happy to know that next chapter, the Courier will finally be awake in this new world.**

**Until then, here are his items, and the Normandy Crew's reaction to him and the situation surrounding them.**

* * *

**The retrieval of numerous objects followed detection by the _SSV Normandy SR-2_'s scanners. They were found in proximity of what is thought to be the source of the unknown energy surge mentioned ****in LCDR J. Shepard's report of the incident that occurred 0823 hours on Jan. 20th, 2185. Under orders from Second Operative Jacob Taylor, Crewman Sarah Patel and Crewman Vadim Rolston cataloged and numbered each item found. Certain items are marked as paraphernalia; this is referring to the body, and is based solely on the items's proximity to the target.**

**Only select items have been fully researched. Research and investigation will continue, and the list will be updated accordingly by authorized personnel.**

**Note that irretrievable items are not included (items on the cadaver's person currently sealed within pockets and pouches, as well as clothing and armor of the body until their removal). **

**The appearance of the body's apparel and armor will be discussed in the corresponding report by Medical Officer Karin Chakwas after authorization for extensive scanning and tests has been given by the Illusive Man.**

**Note that the report has been allowed informal and casual language by orders of LCDR J. Shepard, as long as what is written is relevant to and informative of aforementioned items. Also note that certain items have been deemed classified to lower-ranked personnel until further research is conducted and a consensus regarding what is to be done with them has been reached.**

**Items are as follow:**

[1] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Lever-action carbine (model unknown, mostly resemblant of the Winchester Model 1895, though distinct differences are present)

Caliber: .45-70 Government

Action: Lever-action

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: More than unconventional; all weaponry found can be considered ancient or antique. This belongs only in the latter category. What is theorized to be a Native-American "medicine wheel" (whose cultural significance varies between their old tribes) adorns the wooden stock of the carbine. Rough but precise carvings are present on the grip of the barrel; a single word/name, in an unknown language utilizing the latin alphabet ("MARDA"). It has been confirmed by Patel that it is not a Native-American language (Good job! -Jacob).

The metal was strengthened with an unknown chemical process. It's molecular structure is evidently resilient, but authorization for extensive testing is pending. The wood is strengthened with a different method that also seems to have made it resistant to warping and heat. In short, it is clear that it has been adapted to match the environmental resilience of modern mass accelerator weapons. This also raises questions as to its internal functions, whether the found weapons are all genuine gunpowder weaponry or adapted to use mass accelerator rounds. Again, authorization pending for analysis and testing.

[2] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Colt 1851 Navy Revolver

Caliber: .36 (conversion)

Action: Single action

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: Stylized golden engravings (matching the ones found on item numbered [3]) runs along the length of the revolver, excepting its wooden grip. An inscription in English is written along the left side of the barrel, "NO GODS". The metal and wood was strengthened with the same chemical process mentioned above.

[3] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Remington Revolver Model 1858

Caliber: .44 (Conversion)

Action: Single action

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: Stylized golden engravings (matching the ones found on item numbered [2]) runs along the length of the revolver, excepting its wooden grip. An inscription in English is written along the right side of the barrel, "NO MASTERS" (famous anarchist slogan: "NO GODS, NO MASTERS." Concerning. -Miranda) The metal and wood was strengthened with the same chemical process mentioned above.

P.S.: No, Taylor, you can't take the revolvers for yourself. If you somehow manage to pluck them from under EDI's watch, you're welcome to keep them. -Miranda

**[Comment by Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau redacted by Enhanced Defense Intelligence. Reason: Inappropriate/Irrelevant]**

[4]

Bundle of three books

Quality: Worn down leather cover, but ultimately sturdy

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: Strap is reinforced, leather reinforced (animal), books remain closed. Attempts will be made to open, but NOT a priority. If nothing can be done, MOVE ON. Do NOT damage the books.

P.S.: Maybe this guy was an alcoholic priest or something. How much you wanna bet there's whiskey inside the pages? -Jacob

P.P.S.: 50 creds he is. -His Cherubic Pilotness, Joker

P.P.P.S.: Focus, Patel. We need answers, not literature. If you can't pry it open, MOVE ON, don't bother your crewmates with it. -Miranda

P.P.P.P.S.: 50 he isn't. -Shepard

P.P.P.P.P.S.: What happened to relevance? -Miranda

[5] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Falcata (Replication)

Blade length: 17 inches

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: This falcata's forging with crude methods bore a crude result, with rough-textured metal and rustic design. Though as analysis indicates, it was later strengthened using a similar chemical process as the metals of the above-numbered firearms. The distinct hooking pommel the falcatas are historically known for is shaped in the head of an unknown animal. Favored greatly by Carthaginian general Hannibal.

P.S.: Quid pro quo, Clarice. -Hannibal

P.P.S.: Knock it off, Joker. -Shepard

[5]

M1911 Colt

Caliber: .45 Auto

Action: Short recoil operation

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: Nickel finish, and a long slide with a greek inscription. Translation pending. (Get to it, Rolston! -Miranda) Similar chemical strengthening.

[6]

Winchester Model 70

Caliber: Unknown

Action: Bolt Action

Origin: Human, Earth

Distinctions: Chemical strengthening. Mexican Flag, in dirty condition, wrapped around the hilt.

[7]

Mini-gun (unknown model)

Caliber: Unknown

Origin: Human, unknown planet

Distinctions: Structure and position of hand-grip implies this unknown mini-gun is mounted on the shoulder. Traits reminiscent of human retrofuturism are present. Chemically strengthened.

[8]

Explosives Launcher (unknown)

Origin: Human, unknown planet

Distinctions: Structure and position of hand-grip implies the launcher is shoulder-mounted as well. Traits reminiscent of human retrofuturism are present. Looks to be an explosive launcher, most likely uses rockets. A spray-painted Betsy Ross American flag (deviations are present) adorns the back-end. Chemically strengthened.

Imprints on the stock were mostly faded, but one name remained comprehensible. "Hopeville"

[9] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Stone necklace

Origin: Unknown

Distinctions: A rectangular, hewn stone tied with leather strip. Engravings of quadrupedal animals and tribal markings present. Worn by the cadaver, found by Chief Medical Officer Chakwas. Potentially a fetish/totem of Native-American origin, considering the medicine wheel present on the Lever-Action Carbine. This is not confirmed, however.

P.S.: You should've said "This is not set in stone, however." Also is everything chemically strengthened? It's like Bane but he juices up guns instead of his fists. Are we sure this guy isn't chemically strengthened too? -Joker

P.P.S.: That's called taking roids, Joker. Also, shut up. -Her Royal Freshness, Commander Shepard.

P.P.P.S.: Seriously, Shepard? -Miranda

P.P.P.P.S.: Why does it feel like Miranda's the only one taking the whole keep-it-casual-as-long-as-it's-relevant-and-informative thing seriously? -Jacob

P.P.P.P.P.S.: Don't worry, this happened all the time on the first Normandy. We just make a copy and delete all the bullshit before sending in a proper report. -Shepard

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: Hey remember when you sent a report of Therum and forgot to delete the headline that said "_The Citadel Council, or A Treatise On The Dumbfuckery of Incompetents And Politicians Whose Collective Depth of Strategic Intelligence Reaches Only As Far As The Thumbs Up Their Asses Reach_"? -Joker

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: God-damn, Shepard. -Jacob

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: Who said I forgot to delete anything? -Shepard

**[Comment by Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau redacted by ****Enhanced Defense Intelligence****. Reason: Inappropriate/Irrelevant]**

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: Can we please move on before EDI decides the whole report has become inappropriate/irrelevant? -Miranda

[10] [PARAPHERNALIA]

Waist holsters and bandoliers (Unknown leather)

Origin: Human, most likely Earth.

Distinctions: Resembles old western (that's to say, American) holsters, very cowboy-ish. Metal buckle with sign: "Erin Go Bragh!" meaning "Ireland till the end of time!" (Some of you are cool, don't start your cars tomorrow... -Seamus)

This doesn't necessarily implicate heritage, but it should not be ignored. It is safe to say the bandoliers and holster are replications, only a few years old. Wear and tear seem to indicate it was made and used in extremely arid conditions.

P.S.: Enough, Joker. Or I'll have EDI space you. I'm serious. -Miranda

[11] [PARAPHERNALIA?]

Robotic object

Origin: Unknown, likely human

Distinctions: Shielded from scanning not unlike the cadaver's armor, what external functions and design gleaned from our current equipment imply a robot with an unknown degree of autonomy and functionality. Dirt and dust cover vintage posters of seemingly human but ultimately unknown origin with a layer of dirt that will be used to determine it's age through radiocarbon dating and other methods. A single cylindrical object at it's "mouth" seems to be a tool of sorts. EDI has implied that it could be unknown weaponry (reasoning classified).

Akin to objects numbered 7 & 8, it possesses characteristics of a retrofuturistic (ultimately meaning, human) design, like a childhood toy made reality.

This object takes **priority**, Patel & Rolston.

* * *

**To: Miranda Lawson**

**From: Jacob Taylor**

**Subject: Re: A situation**

_Look, Miranda, you're smart most of the time, but you're being stupid right now. Take my word for it._

_The woman just woke up from the dead. Let me ask you: do you think it felt like 2 years? I bet she was dying and happened to just blink and was told 2 years had passed. Not exactly something that would put a person __in a healthy state of mind._

_It's not like she hates us. You said it yourself, she doesn't trust us.__ Nothing more, nothing less._

_ She's the one that has to stop the Collecters and come up with ways to pull _our_ asses out of the fire. That should be enough to make you survive a little distrust._

_Besides, the type of operations she stopped back in '83 would make anyone hate us. Not gonna lie either, I'm impressed with how well she's actually handling it. I'm sure my winning smile and your warm personality will earn us her confidence in no time._

_-Jacob Taylor_

_P.S.: You're slipping, Lawson. Since when did I start pulling _your _head out of _your_ ass?_

* * *

**To: Jacob Taylor**

**From: Miranda Lawson**

**Subject: Re: Re: A situation**

_Jacob,_

_Fine, I got the point, poor Shepard needs some time._

_Still, she reacted disproportionately when she found our theories and intel regarding the body lacking. _

_In any case, she needs to get her head together soon. We're to join her on the field in 2 hours, as __I'm sure you're aware. Omega isn't a place you want to start wavering, especially if we're going after someone like Archangel._

_-Miranda_

_P.S.: __Since I started getting back pains from carrying your career to the top._

_P.P.S.: __*Collectors._

* * *

**To: Samesh Bhatia**

**From: Commander Shepard**

**Subject: Re: Thank you again.**

_Samesh,_

_I apologize for replying so late, I was busy being dead for 2 years._

_Don't mention it, mister. I'm glad you've found some closure and purpose after your wife's passing. You're doing well, and I'm sure your wife would be happy that you're dealing with your situation so healthily. _

_I'll be sure to visit your restaurant sometime when I'm feeling stingy and hungry._

_Best regards,_

_Shepard_

* * *

**To: Commander Shepard**

**From: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**Subject: (No subject)**

_A tentacle-play vid._

* * *

**To: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**From: Commander Shepard**

**Subject: Re: (No subject)**

_What?_

* * *

**To: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**From: Medical Officer Karin Chakwas**

**Subject: Concerned about Shepard.**

_Jeff,_

_I know we've had this discussion before, but this time it's different when I say that something is bothering Shepard. So much so that she's not even making an attempt to hide it._

_The body they found has her in constant shock. I thought she recognized the armor until she made said she had never seen that kind of armor before. _

_I still feel as though she knows something, and what bothers me is that she can barely hide it. With Shepard we often had to wait in suspense, wondering how she'd pull herself out of the fire. But she never failed to surprise us in the end, because it kept turning out a gambit instead of a gamble._

_I'm not so sure it is a gambit this time. Whatever it is that she really saw more than bewildered her, it seems to have almost traumatized her, if I didn't know any better._

_She shouldn't hear it from me, so I can only tell you that my heart aches for Shepard. _

* * *

**To: Commander Shepard**

**From: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**Subject: Re: Re: (No subject)**

_Before you tapped out, I asked what do you call a hanar crushing blueberries (or something like that)._

_It's called a tentacle-play vid._

* * *

**To: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**From: Commander Shepard**

**Subject: Re: Re: Re: (No subject)**

_I swear to god, Joker._

* * *

**To: Medical Officer Karin Chakwas**

**From: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**Subject: Re: Concerned about Shepard.**

_Yeah I figured something was up when she went into shock in deep space and wouldn't respond to us yelling in her ear._

_I'm not gonna act like I know why that body is making her freak out (IF that's what's making her freak out), but I wouldn't __worry about it doc. Shepard will pull through, and you know it. It's just that you're afraid._

_Besides, she has us, and it's not like we're gonna let her forget it._

_By the way, any chance I could see the body?_

* * *

**To: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**From: Medical Officer Karin Chakwas**

**Subject: Re: Re: Concerned about Shepard.**

_She came to the medical bay, and we_ _talked._

_Thank you, Joker, you were right. I took your advice to heart and gave her some of my own. I'm thankful you made me see past my own fear._

_She went so far as to reveal what shook her up so badly (yes, she actually talked). My apologies, but she should be the one to tell you what. She might even do so if you stop making quips. Have a heart-to-heart with her - I know something's been bothering you whenever she's in the same room as you, as much as you'd rather not admit it._

_I feel somewhat guilty pointing out your troubles after you helped me break through with Shepard, so let me extend an olive branch: Come down later for your medical scans and you can see the body they brought in in person. Shepard also gave me the official list of the items they found on and around him, so I might have something more if you behave._

* * *

**To: John Whitson**

**From: Commander Shepard**

**Subject: Re: Glad I didn't sign up.**

_I'm glad to hear it, John._

_Next time you save up credits, buy dinner instead of a gun to go vigilante hunting. Trust me, in 9/10 situations only one will make you happy._

_Regards,_

_Commander Shepard_

* * *

**To: Vadim Rolston, Sarah Patel**

**From: Thomas Hawthorne**

**Subject: You know damn well what the subject is**

_How are you hermits doing? Anything you want to share with the class?_

_COME ON! How can you be so quiet in a time like this!? Get out of the damn armory and come down here, it's chaos!_

_Who is this guy? People are saying all kinds of shit, but most of them are just talking out their asses. Matthews says he's an assassin, and he apparently saw the body too. We need some concrete intel or this ship is going to turn into a high-school with all the gossiping. Frankly it's giving me a headache, so get down here and shut them the fuck up, please._

_Yours truly,_

_Thomas Hawthorne_

* * *

**To: Thomas Hawthorne**

**From: Sarah Patel**

**Subject: Re: You know damn well what the subject is**

_Don't pretend like you're above the gossip you son of a bitch._

_I'll tell you who this mysterious asshole is: a back breaker._

_I probably shouldn't even be telling you this, but __this guy has the weirdest shit. It looks like instead of buying modern replications, he took vintage weapons (gunpowder) with old metals, inferior alloys and wood, and made them as strong as modern weaponry with chemistry processing or something (Vadim knows the details)._

_I don't actually know if it's gunpowder or converted, because even Cerberus doesn't have the tech to scan its internal functions (seems this guy didn't want people to get blueprints to his shit). It looks like we're going to have to disassemble them._

_ I don't want to think about how Operative Taylor's going to react when he finds out we're pulling his precious revolvers apart (that guy's fangasming all over them because of a few old Wild West vids)._

_But anyway, besides an ancient design for a short-sword, there's a necklace Dr. Chakwas found around the body's neck and some books. The leather of these things aren't from any animals we know of, so we still have that to figure out, which we won't until the Illusive Man decides to get off his ass and give us the fucking authorization to do some testing._

_Until we do or we get new orders from up top, we're stuck here. Maybe you can buddy up to Shepard, I bet she'd see the blatant slavery going on and pull us out of this hellhole for an hour or two._

_Until then,_

_Sarah Patel_

* * *

**To: Miranda Lawson**

**From: Jacob Taylor**

**Subject: I'm doing it**

_I know everyone doubts me but I swear to god Miranda I'm doing it._

_I'm getting those revolvers. _Pale Rider _and _The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, _both are __legendary vids, and those guns are even more so. I'd be an idiot to pass this up. I'm not letting two of the most iconic pieces of Americana slip me by._

_This might be my final message. If I get caught, tell my mom I love her._

* * *

**To: Jacob Taylor**

**From: Miranda Lawson**

**Subject: Re: I'm doing it**

_You're an idiot if you do this. Don't._

* * *

**To: Miranda Lawson**

**From: Jacob Taylor**

**Subject: Re: Re: I'm doing it**

_Good idea, actually._

* * *

**To: Medical Officer Karin Chakwas**

**From: Yeoman Kelly Chambers**

**Subject: Any answers?**

_How are you, Dr. Chakwas!_

_Sorry to bother you, but the whole ship is abuzz with rumors and no one has answers. _

_I was wondering if you had any for us? I doubt I need to specify what it's all about._

_Just who is that man? Hadley's arguing with Matthews and saying he was an anti-terrorist agent from the Citadel here to take us out while Matthews is saying it's someone from the Alliance coming to "retrieve" Shepard. _

_Daniels and Donnelly are butting heads like always. Kenneth is actually arguing that he's from another reality and Gabriella's arguing that Kenneth's an idiot (with unanimous support from the rest)._

_I doubt this man popped in from a different dimension as well, but somehow that does little to make him any less interesting. I know you probably can't talk about it, but would you do us another kindness? __Everyone knows the field operatives and Shepard have theories, and I'm just wondering if they're going to share any of them with the crew soon. _

_Even better, if you have a theory of your own I'd love to hear it._

_Best Regards,_

-Yeoman Kelly Chambers

* * *

**To: Medical Officer Karin Chakwas**

**From: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**Subject: answer quickly**

_was that Garrus? what the hells going on doc?_

_im trying not to contact you on your omni-tool in case you're in the middle of surgery but its been hours and no one knows what the hell's going on so just call me as soon as you can._

* * *

**To: Commander Shepard, Miranda Lawson, Jacob Taylor**

**From: Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau**

**Subject: (No subject)**

_I've been calling Chakwas on her omnitool to find out wtf is going on but she hasn't been answering my calls for a while now. _

_Can one of you guys just check on her to see that she's okay? Just make sure I didn't make her botch a surgery._

_Thanks._

* * *

**Next Chapter: _Ain't that a kick in the head? _2.0**


	7. Ain't that a kick in the head?

"Here's to Shepard – may your oxygen run out in an admirable and effective fashion!"

Cheers sounded like fanfare throughout the barracks following Saxon's toast.

Shot glasses were raised skyward in celebration.

Jane's grin was so wide it felt like it would split her face, but that paltry pain did little to make it wane.

She raised her own shotglass to the sky, to fortune, to dedication and tenacity.

The only moment of silence was when the barrack collectively downed their vodka, and the sound of glasses slamming on the table ended that.

The loud celebration began.

"Jesus," grimaced the Dude from beside her, before the Private gave out a hoarse cough. "Who enjoys this?"

"You're Polish, aren't you?" Andrea quipped behind him, eyes on a brunette snack with a sizeable bust.

Shepard shook her head, and jumped as a hand clapped down on her shoulder. Jane turned around to see Saxon smiling, its joy reaching his eyes. "Our Shepard – from mud to blood!"

The room cheered.

The reverberating music, incessant hollering, and magnificent dancing (from Shepard especially, she knew for a fact; why else would the whole room turn to stare?) could be heard outside, but even that wasn't as loud as the delighted squeal that left Jane's mouth when she left Captain Weyland's office.

Thankful she was that no one was around to hear it, or she'd never live it down.

The burly captain had called her to the office with a frown, and grit out words like someone had broken a stick stiffer than usual off in his ass.

But eventually the Captain was unable to keep his smile in check as he handed her the papers.

She'd looked it over, and gasped out when she saw the N7 logo.

She was going to the Villa.

Soon after, she ran to her quarters and blabbed on to Habib, because though he was a good friend and true to his name – well-liked, that is – he was just as big-mouthed.

She counted on him making sure the whole barrack found out.

Two days later, she stood in the middle of her own coronation.

They knew better than to hoist her up on their shoulders, or try to put a crown on her head, but they showered her with praise and embarrassed her with great tales recounting her numerous fuck-ups, misunderstandings, and incidents. See, everyone had heard the tales of her skill – and even for the few that didn't, acceptance into the position of an N1 cadet was telling enough – so it was refreshing to visit her equally exceptional and vastly more amusing failures.

Still… the whole week she'd been on edge. Even listening to the stories, she was nagged by some sensation of being loomed over, or watched from afar. Like the glint off a sniper's scope that wasn't there. Or something in the sky looking at her.

Maybe that helped distract her, not be as embarrassed by the mortifying stories being passed around her table. But she wasn't the happier for it.

Marlow, the greenest of her squad, ended up disappearing with Andrea, the second greenest and most temperamental, to sit with another squad after he recognized one of them from high-school. The Dude tried to regulate Habib's vicious consumption of Jägermeister and vodka by exclaiming "Haram! Haram, bro!" but ended up almost getting slapped and called a donkey because of it.

By the time the celebration was eking out its last hour, most of the barrack got head-over-heel drunk, finally getting her out of the spotlight, but landing Dudek and Habib in her hands.

"_Already?!_" Habib said, despairing as she carried his arm over her shoulder.

"It's two in the morning," she pointed out. "You need to go to bed."

Habib whooped. "Whoo! Time flies when you're having fun!" Then he sighed. "No wonder it felt like you were on the dance floor forever."

She giggled. "Fuck you."

They crossed paths with the occasional group of soldiers coming and going in the night, some drunk and some sober. Some congratulated her, and some simply saluted in acknowledgement as they passed.

One company was marching in admirable synchronicity in a drill. Undoubtedly the work of the Sergeant Shitfuck, the hardest ass to ever sit the Drill Sergeant's seat.

Few faces were visible, because as idyllic as Elysium could be, when the night came it was as dark as any other city.

Shepard and her wards passed the company by in the nocturnal of the other side of the military ground's fence when she caught movement, faint, in the corner of her eye.

She turned toward the shift in the dark, the shadow in the alleys.

Something was off.

No… someone.

It was a someone that stood looking her direction… Staring at her?

She couldn't really tell, but staring back did little to dissuade their gaze. Only when the tall person shook their head at her was her suspicion confirmed, and they disappeared around the corner.

"_Fuck you too,_" she murmured.

"Huh!?" Habib queried loudly into her ear.

She flinched, and rubbed her ear. "Nothing. _Jesus._"

The odd encounter distracted her until they neared their quarters. "Shit…" she sighed.

Dudek frowned. "What's wrong?"

"…Don't know," she admitted. "Got a bad feeling." She opened the door and let them go first.

Habib found his footing, and she closed the door behind them with her boot before taking them off.

Shepard walked to the kitchen.

"Pirates and slavers have been acting up like a hornet's nest stirred, and we're at the Verge. Can't exactly count on the recruits to take up arms if Elysium gets attacked – which it _will_. I'm going back to bring Marlow and Andrea home. Come here."

Her hands grabbed out a couple of clean glasses from the cabinet. She flipped the tap open, and handed them the glasses.

They protested initially, but she had found early on that she had a knack for handling children well, and after some juvenile reasoning they downed one glass of water after the other to stave off as much of a hangover as they could.

Without her these idiots, as irresponsible as loveable, would fall apart. They weren't without talent or skill, just kids.

Granted, she was the same age. But she wasn't like them. Never could be, never should be. For everyone's sake.

Suddenly exhausted like she'd brawled with a krogan, Shepard left them to find her bunk.

Just going to... rest her eyes a little before bringing Marlow and Andrea back…

In her fall, the tidied cushion came up to kiss her softly. The sheet creased under her.

Soft sleep crept up.

She inhaled, but it was not the usual scent of her pillow.

It was the smell of ash.

"Wake up," someone said.

"Soon," she told Habib, or the Dude, whichever it was. "I'll bring them back."

"Too late for that. Come on, time to wake up."

"No, no…" she insisted with a wave. "Don't… you… worry about a thing. They can wait."

"…_WAKE UP_!"

Shepard gasped quietly, eyes opened.

Her surroundings were unfamiliar only for a moment.

Across the table sat Hawthorne.

She sighed deeply, tiredly, scratching her neck. "Sorry about that. Drifted off into memory lane."

He blinked in surprise. "Oh… uh, don't worry about it, Commander," he reassured, anxiously. Still not broken out of his starstruck haze, apparently.

She yawned, then asked, "What was it you said?"

Hawthorne frowned, but before he could respond, her omni-tool materialized around her forearm.

A message from Joker.

"Sorry, let me just check this."

The screen came up. The words staring at her.

Her eyes read it, and her heart dreaded.

* * *

The first thing he felt was the absence of a weight.

His necklace was gone.

The second thing he felt was alone, because she wasn't with him.

He opened his eyes, and saw a white metal ceiling, pale lamps beaming down.

The Courier emptied his lungs, and took a deep, dry sniff.

Pungent metal, like sterilized equipment, drifted in soft caress to his nose. Muffled, but there.

The slow, repetitive blip of a heart-monitor, maybe of an Auto-Doc's, let him know he was in a clinic.

The heartbeat couldn't have been his own, because he realized he could feel his armor around him like a shell, whole, unmarred, unbroken.

Only the Big Mountain could repair it after he had them rework and improve it, only they could see and track his vitals. Along with Yes-Man and his friends, who had all been given the means to do so.

And the room he was in was not any of theirs.

The sound of an aged woman yelling yanked him out of his thoughts.

Silver flashed his vision from below. He blinked to wipe the blur away from his eyes, twisted his arms subtly enough to escape notice by whoever just entered the room.

_Strapped down._

He didn't realize the squeaking sound of wheels in the background was there until it stopped.

His hearing returned to acceptable focus just in time to hear a name.

"Garrus."

A latin name.

The implication was not lost on him. _They captured me, made sure I survived. Not good. It means they have need of me._

But… he was not feeling pain. Even after what had been done to him.

He glanced a dark-skinned man beside a black-haired woman at Garrus's bedside, to his right.

Their backs were to him, and the silver-haired woman – a scientist, he gandered, judging by her outfit, demeanor, and words – stood at the foot.

She was the one who had shouted. Looked old enough to fit the voice.

The dark-skin and black-hair argued with the scientist, before the scientist lost her temper and chewed them out. They left the room, discontent in the woman's whispering voice and sympathy in the man's.

The scientist turned her back for a moment, and the Courier snuck a glance down.

He saw the impossible, his armor whole, untouched… and clean?

It was as if he had never even walked the Mojave… much less spilt his blood for it.

_Something is off,_ logic told him.

His mind couldn't help but wander to the fire-maned shepherd in his dreams.

_What were you?_ he asked her._ My salvation, or just some delusion?_

The scientist turned her back again, to face something near the foot of his bed.

The Courier looked down, and his heart caught in his chest.

Sitting hunched over with a distant look in her eyes, there she sat. As real as he was.

Her face was battered, a cut above her eyebrow and her lower jaw black with soot.

A realization smashed his chest like a hammer. The painful truth.

The shepherd had been a coping mechanism.

His mind had been comforting him in his severe trauma with a delusion from a woman he had probably glanced during his own capture that he couldn't remember.

Some false idol.

The woman was no shepherd, and even less a savior.

She was his enemy.

He clenched his eyes and leaned his head back.

It wasn't the first time his own mind hurt him, but this… felt like a betrayal.

His mind ran wild, hateful. Thoughts of ash and fire clenched his fists, ran his temper into a red hot abyss. One he would regret once he came out of.

_Clear your head,_ he told himself, before rage could wrest control from him. _Hate can wait, but Vegas will not._

"Commander," the woman soon titled the shepherd.

She was a head of the hydra. In this realization, he found scornful resolve.

Stilled himself, breath as slow as his augmented heart would allow, and piqued his ears for as much information as they gave. All while hatching a plan of escape.

The scientist began to work on Garrus. Only skill he'd seen of her was not combat. The shepherd – commander, he reminded himself –was lethargic, likely wouldn't respond till he jumped out of bed. These two wouldn't be a problem.

During a later hour, he noticed that the commander's weapon was propped against the wall. Though not identical to the kind that the legionaries had used on him, it looked kin.

That was no coincidence. Not many had weapons that looked to be of that design.

"Jane."

The name finally wakes the commander up, and as if from deep sleep, she blinks repeatedly.

_Jane. Jane is her name._

"…I found Garrus…" Jane said distantly.

The shepherd's voice was dead ringer to his dream, but there was an emptiness in her once-firm voice.

Her eyes affected him more, however.

The two spoke finally, and the doctor called Jane something that explained much – she called her "Shepherd," as a name.

His eyes as well as his ears had deluded him, made fantasy of whatever it picked up. He sighed quietly.

At least that answered where he got his fever dream's imagery from. Namely, the woman's face and name.

But…

Something was missing, remained unexplained.

Where did that four-eyed titan in the sky come from? That thing that spoke with black, oily words, and hated the world so much its words tore its woods up from it?

Just what had he subconsciously witnessed to come up with _that_?

He realized he'd find no answers, and put it out of his mind, elected to listen instead.

As soon as he did, he heard them mention military time.

Means they could be a professional merc company, hired by Legion.

Didn't often use mercenaries, but after seeing that... blue thing corrupting them, it seemed to the Courier not even chem-use was above them anymore.

Then, they mentioned something very curious.

"Cerberus equipment."

_Cerberus…_

Name of a Legion faction?

He kept listening. Regrettably, little else useful was mentioned.

Their conversation became tense, distrustful even.

But he shut out their voices - their personal troubles were personal, as far as he gave a shit - and activated the razor nail implant in his index finger. It jutted out soundlessly, and he slit the first strap restraining his waist and hands to the bed.

The cut was so smooth and sudden the severed strap was left unnoticeably slack–

The Courier's faint breath stilled entirely. Like a snake had wrapped around him.

He was being watched.

"Ignore him," the commander said. "Take care of Garrus."

Those words… He tried to be impartial of his dream, but her words wounded him deeper than they had any right to.

Goddamn her.

Goddamn him. Who the fuck is she that he'd let her hurt him with just a few words?

He was supposed to be better, know to let go of things when he needed to.

_Hate can wait,_ he reminded himself grudgingly.

After all, the Courier does not suffer Legion to live. And Garrus would be the rule, not the exception.

The hiss of a door sounded, Shepherd's footsteps disappeared into a discordant wave of voices from outside, before the room was shut off into silence.

The doctor turned away from the door.

As his eyes watched her, his hand twisted, and slipped out from under the severed strap, and quickly sliced the strap constricting his arms and torso.

All of a sudden the Courier snaked his arm back under the straps, for bcside him came a noise – odd and choked, shrill. Sure to draw attention.

The doctor turned around with fear permeating her figure, but the Courier was unmoving.

Then, something _spoke_. Inhumanly reverberating, but too complex to be animalistic.

It couldn't have come from anything but a living creature, but that creature could not have been human.

The doctor's feet pattered to Garrus's bedside.

Why?

He twisted his head, looked to where the legionary should have laid…

Shielded under his helmet, the Courier's eyes widened with disbelief, until they could've popped out of his skull.

He saw a creature, clad in charred, blue armor, face of sleek carapace and mandibled mouth.

And he had seen it before! In his dream!

It had followed the shepherd…

"Mister Vakarian! Can you hear me!?" the doctor asked.

He hazarded lifting his head just enough to peek beyond the creature, just to see if Garrus lay past it.

But there was only a wall.

He leaned back down and stared at the creature incredulously.

The understanding came to him then.

…_Garrus?_ he asked it wordlessly.

Its mandibles moved, sluggishly. Half-conscious. But this time, he saw it speak, bedeviled and thrumming though said speech sounded, "_Kkarrrinn…_"

_It knows her name!_

Another sapient organism!

She spoke to it words of comfort, and it responded with clicking and shrill hissing he could not understand.

It had emotions too...?

His mind had frozen, thoughts nowhere to be heard. All was disbelief.

_Where have I gotten myself captured?_ he asked himself.

The creature – Garrus – began to drift out of consciousness. Its head slumped aside, and in the last moments before its sleep, it stared sluggishly, right at the Courier.

Its eyes found his riot mask. It looked confused, surprised.

He could see it recognized something was different about him…

He prepared to leap out of bed.

…and then its eyes closed.

The Courier looked forward just before she turned around.

She approached him, unwitting and deep in thought.

He readied himself mentally, remained entirely still in the bed.

A thoughtful, absent murmur sighed from her lips, as if a thought escaping her.

"_Veronica…_"

There was a flinch of his muscles, one he barely reined in from revealing him.

He could see her in front of him, his sweet friend, his sister, smiling with sad eyes…

There was a burned in his chest. Sadness, regret. Then anger.

She of the enemy knew Veronica's name.

It would not stand.

"Who are you?" she asked absently, leaning over him.

She ran her fingers along the strap at his chest.

His hand thrust out before Karin's fear could manifest, but when his fingers clamped around her throat, pulled her violently over him to the other side of the bed as he instantaneously sliced the final strap at his ankles, and vaulted out of the bed while slamming her into the ground, horror was as sure as radiation on her fear-twined visage. He landed on top of her, left hand's grip iron on her mouth.

The teal of her gaping, finely-aged eyes was the most you could see.

"_**I'm going to remove my hand**_," he growled in a deep voice, baritone made harsh from disuse. "_**If you scream, I'll make it a scream of agony.**_"

Grip on her throat was unmoving as she tried to nod. He let go after.

Right hand's index razor slipped out the niche, squeezed against her rhythmic, pumping jugular. Lightly. Nails were sharp, needed little pressure to accidentally slice her.

Even with his entire weight holding her down like a slow vice.

He takes in her fear. Lets it fester, broil, into something vile and horrifying.

When he sees in the reflection of her irises two crimson eyes from a nightmare worse than her own mind had ever fashioned, he knows she wouldn't dare in a star's years to ever defy him.

His grip on her lips loosens, lifts. He sees horror on her face.

Good.

She nodded jerkily. "_Y-yes. O-okay. Okay._" Her whisper was fragile.

Her frantic breath strained to be quiet, like she feared the slightest noise that could be mistaken for defiance would set him off.

The doctor shuts her eyes and swallows painfully.

Invisibility sweeps over him like a cloak. He allows his helmet's eyes to remain. Let her know he'll be watching.

Then they fade.

When he stands up from her, she gasps for breath with an aching, bruised body.

"_**Get up,**_" he orders.

She does. Her form was retreating, small. Shivering with fear. "_Please…_" she pleaded.

"_**Where are my things?**_"

"_W-w-we…_"

"_**Where?**_" he growls, like an animal.

Finally, she managed, "…_Armory._" Then she swallows, and Karin (as the commander had called her) finally speaks louder than a whisper. "W-we only wanted to help."

Her tone might have tugged at his heart, but any kindness for the enemy left him the moment Veronica's name left their lips.

He leans in so close she feels the air move, and grunts, "**_Woke up s_**_**trapped down. Noticed a pair of guards right outside the door, as well. Will you claim you fixed my armor, too?**_"

"W-what? No–"

Startled by the sudden sound emitted in the room, his arm shot out like a serpent to wrap around her. His index razor presses against her throat.

"W-wait!" She strains out in a whimper. "Please, it's just my omni-tool." There was a curt pause, before she took initiative and slowly raised her right arm.

The Courier was surprised to find it wreathed in a red, holographic gauntlet, with a circle above the back of its hand.

"Someone sent me a message," she placated. "That's all."

"_**Show it.**_"

The gauntlet unfurled at the hand and a screen expanded from it, surprising him.

It was a message from the Flight Lieutenant.

He finished reading it quicker than her. "_**Send nothing.**_"

She froze in his invisible, iron embrace. Confused.

"_**Take me to the armory. Let them see you on the way. Refuse, neither you nor Garrus will never see your friends a last time. Raise an alarm, act suspicious…**_"

He recalled the concern she held for her friend the commander. His nemesis.

"…_**and you will live just long enough to see your friends torn apart. If you ever had a bad day when you wanted to simply ignore your friends and go about your business, make it this day.**_"

"No."

He blinked. Her form had stopped shivering, and though her defiant voice still trembled her back was like steel.

_So be–_

"_Don't hurt them,_" she whispered meekly, suddenly vulnerable again. "_Kill me if you must. Tie up this loose end, but… please… they are good people. Garrus, Shepherd… the rest of them. Whether you believe me or not, we didn't mean to hurt you–_"

"_**You are right, I do not.**_"

Her head hung ever so slightly in grim defeat. "_…Just don't hurt them. Promise me. Whatever anger you hold toward them, take it out on me. Only me. They don't deserve it._"

She had deeply surprised him. And just as deeply, she moved him with her selflessness.

He was wrong about her. She wasn't at all the sadistic scientist he imagined you'd have to be to ever associate with the Legion.

Her love and concern was genuine.

_Not the first time hate's blinded me…_

Hate, the fire that burned him. It was the only reason he was even here in the first place.

And evil should only ever be retaliation towards evil. Karin the Not-Scientist, the Healer, just happened to be on the opposing side of him.

Nothing more.

This promise would only be fair.

"…_**Okay.**_"

He felt a breath of relief shudder through her.

She calmed her nerves with deep, rhythmic breathing, and said, "Time to face the music," before striding past dimmed windows, and out of the room.

A ghost followed.

She turned left to a table where uniformed men and women sat.

She ignored the greetings, there only to let them see her, but both she and the Courier stopped up, regretting hearing a familiar voice.

"Doc?" the commander's voice said.

Luck was giving today, however, and Karin fortunately (even to the Courier's mind) disobeyed him and answered.

"Commander."

"You alright?"

The Courier could not help but be confused.

That she would ask her friend that while looking like she had just woken up from a bad dream or unpleasant recollection herself.

"Yes. I got the message. Tell Joker I'm alright. And no, he did not manage to bungle a surgery for me."

Shepherd smiled and said, "Why don't you do it yourself?"

Karin hesitated, then for too long. Not good.

He also didn't like how many eyes were watching. His nano-stealth was advanced, but sharp eyes might pick up a shimmer. Sometimes, that's all they need.

"Hey, I'll do it, but–"

Karin interrupted her, and made up some excuse about trying to find a connection between some of his belongings to her own recent (and non-existent) findings.

Something popped off behind him, and he reined in his reflexes just enough that only his head spun to the source.

It was the goddamn cook, shimmying a pan over a hot stove.

A man across from the commander, and who also looked confused by her, stood up, passed the Courier. "Damn, Gardener, you're trying to make MRIs edible, not make fucking fries."

_MRI? Military goods, then._

It explained their professional uniforms.

Got lucky, found a large cache.

Or they manufactured their own materiel, like they did for the legionaries.

"That's… abstract, but okay." He turned around at the commander's voice.

She was eyeing the Courier – or so he feared, until he realized she was watching the cook argue with the man who unknowingly passed him by.

Karin took on a sternly matriarchal tone. "No one is to enter the med-bay. I want nothing disturbed. It's important. Understood?"

The doctor was trying to keep them from finding his bed empty… Clever.

The commander lifted an eyebrow, "Yes, mom," before looking down the other end of the table. "Hey, pass me the salt." She took the shaker from a woman in uniform as the doctor turned to leave. "Doc, before you go."

Karin stopped, unsure. "Shepherd?"

She emptied the shaker on an empty plate, stood up, walked over to the kitchen counter, grabbed a bag of flour from the cabinet, leaned over the counter, and poured into the empty shaker.

The shepherd spoke off-handedly, stumblingly. "Remember when… I went out on, uh… Noveria? With, uh, Garrus and… Rex?"

_Rex. Latin too._

But he remembered who – _what_ Garrus turned out to be.

Still, Rex is a human name, and he had never heard of a Garrus before. Maybe his gut was right on this one.

She placed the bag on the counter and walked to the sink. Water poured steadily from the crane, she carefully filled the rest of the shaker.

"Not particularly," the doctor admitted.

He kept her well within reach, while glancing around quickly.

Those that even paid attention to the commander's odd antics were as confused as him.

"See, by the time we got to a decontamination chamber, there was a little surprise under the grating of the, uh… of the flooring." She closed the tap, screwed the lock back on the shaker, shook it almost violently with her palm on top of it.

"Rachni, I remember."

"_Exactly_," she said, emphatically. She had stopped shaking the flour-filled glass container in her hand, simply regarding it with analytical eyes. "A Rachni son of a bitch popped up. Imagine! The krogan's mortal enemies, thought extinct for ages, just out of nowhere leaps out of the grating! Now, Rex yelled something. Now I want you to remember – pay attention – the Rachni haven't been seen for a _long _time, even by the krogan. What does the _first_ krogan to see a Rachni after god knows how long yell out?"

Karin could only shrug. "I don't know, Commander. What does he say?"

She chortled, never taking her eyes off her bizarre handiwork.

"The guy–" Her own giggle at the apparently amusing memory interrupted her.

"–The fucking, _hehe_, the guy _yells _– _DUCK!_"

He couldn't help but wonder, in the world slowing to a halt, freezing for a fraction of a second, just how a normal, unenhanced human managed to move so fast.

He hadn't even registered the blur of her impossibly fast arm punching out toward him, fist opening, launching the tall, glass bottle, because he did not expect it.

That was the first and last time the Courier underestimated the Shepherd.

Karin ducks.

When the Courier finally registers what she's done, no time remained to evade it; he could have cursed his tallness.

His arm covered his eyes.

Glass shattered against his face, a second mask of shards. Wet flour splattered across him.

The other soldiers froze with shock as the pale torso of a ghost exploded into corporeality.

The black-armored fiend, who was supposed to be unconscious in the med-bay, materialized from thin air, and charged through the white mist in the commander's direction.

His trench-coat whipped at the speed of his lunge. A white-rimmed black spade, with the golden numbers "21" on top of it billowed like a flag on his back.

Soldiers scrambled, all panicked but two.

The dark-skinned one from before is in the room, takes aim with a rifle.

But it's the shepherd the Courier focuses on, regardless.

She was the true danger. His whole being screamed so.

As he nears, her torso twists back and bends over, as if cowering.

Somehow, all he can think is, _Can't be right._

It wasn't.

Her torso quickly twists back, spine jackknifes ramrod-straight, hands pull out a metal barstool and swing it down toward him.

His plated forearm rises to meet it.

The stool buckles violently against his forearm and continues its momentum downward, before bouncing off to the ground to the side.

Though she can't see it, he is more surprised than her.

She is surprised by his speed, as his large stature never fails to deceive, but just the same is he surprised by the strength of her swing, as if she was almost twice as strong as she looked.

But this close, and absent of the element of surprise, she is neither fast nor strong enough to even predict his movement. She can only realize she's being grabbed when his hand already clasps around her throat.

The shepherd exclaims in pain as she's slammed into the metal refrigerator, a pain that wreathes her features with furrows of a scowl.

He growls in her face, hate coming back.

"There you are," she grits out, smiling with angry eyes.

Her hands do not claw desperately at his arm, but wrings it, gauges it. She finds she can't do a single thing, and stops.

He hesitates dealing the killing blow, but only for a moment.

A moment was all the soldier needed.

Before he squeezes her neck, a sharp and burning pain pierces his side and left thigh.

His head snaps to the side, eyes of the helmet subtly brightening.

Dark-skin's brown eyes widen. Freezes in his glare.

Someone yells for him to shoot.

The Courier quickly throws the firehair like a discarded ragdoll toward the experienced soldier. They are both knocked down, the soldier's rifle clattering off.

The Courier forces himself away from the shepherd's prone form, looks aside to the doctor frozen in place, and strode to her.

Terror tore away at her composure, and when he got close enough to leap at her, she finally raised her arms to guard her face-

_CLANG!_

The reverberation shook his head.

The Courier turned around and saw the bald cook scowling, pan in hand.

The cook's face softened to show fear, pan wavering, as he is stared in face by something terrifying.

"Uh oh."

The Courier snatched the pan from his hand, and swung it in revenge. Blood arcs out widely across the entire kitchen island.

Whatever the cook was frying in the pan was given a sanguine spice.

He looked down at the unconscious cook, and said, "_**Lex Talionis, asshole.**_"

The pan clattered loudly against the ground.

He spins and grabs the cowering doctor, pulls her off her feet. His grip on her neck is cruel, painful. She can only squirm as he rushes off with her, more shots suddenly flying at him as the grunts came back with rifles.

He heard the commander ordering them to hold fire as they rushed down the curving hallway to the elevator.

The doctor opens it on his harsh command, and they ride it up to the bridge where the exit laid.

He knew because he snuck a quick glance at his Pip-Boy's map.

He prepares to stride out of the elevator as soon as it opens.

The doors part, he strides– then slides to a stop.

Two rows of soldiers, ten in total, including the dark-haired woman he'd seen when he woke up.

Most waver in their aims, but not dark-hair.

She was experienced... but not a soldier. He could tell.

She was also beautiful. So much he made a note of it despite the circumstances.

Too beautiful, he soon realized. A skin-tight suit?

Lethal mistake.

"Put her–!" down, she tries to command, but the doctor was already flung toward them.

In their haste to dive out of the way or to catch the doctor safely, they make the mistake of giving him time.

He bulls them; the two soldiers are weightless like empty bottles, fly off his armored self, hurled by his weight.

They slam brutally into the wall behind, and hit the ground unconscious.

A third is just as weightless, but he feels her get crushed between his charge and the wall - breaks a shoulder and several ribs, maybe four or five, not sure.

"Jesus Christ!" a soldier exclaimed, like he'd seen a monster. "SHOOT!"

He swiveled about, and dove into their ranks.

All attacks are performed with technique, precision, a systematic elimination.

Soldiers who scrambled to find their footing hadn't the time to do so, but even the ones that did hadn't the time to aim as his fists and boots became a cyclone of violence, of armored fists and shanks.

The hallway filled with yells, screams, and violent thuds of impact. The fourth to ninth soldiers are thrown, punched, kicked, slammed, slashed, and broken, until all were knocked out, or disabled.

With an echoing punch to the ninth's jaw that scattered off four teeth, only the dark-haired woman remained.

Her shock was barely concealed.

In her eyes, there was the billowing form of a black shade, as ruthless and cruel as the darkness that made up its woeful existence. It struck, lashed out, dragging and throwing grown soldiers like nothing, and it did so with an effortless brutality that chilled your bones to witness.

And now it stared at her with bloody eyes.

She realized she had neither the advantage nor the time she thought, and that her enemy was far more dangerous than she expected.

Still her pretty face recovered into an intensely focused expression.

After little pause, he charged her.

Purple energy quickly wreathed her form. Like water's surface, it danced, undulated, then abruptly burst like a grenade dropped in the pond.

Of a sudden, he was flying backwards.

He slammed into the elevator doors.

He looked up at the ceiling, blinking, wondering what the fuck just happened. A blunt pain rang through his head, his back ached.

"Chakwas, _move!_"

That woke him up.

He looks, sees dark-hair still covered in that energy.

Whatever it was, he learned enough to know what do about it.

He got up onto his knee, and yanked the doctor back under his crouched form by her leg, as his arm twisted and wrist flicked. The kitchen knife spun from his hand.

The helmet's UI made the high-pitch revving sound of V.A.T.S., almost freezing time. Then it exited.

Shock contorted dark-hair's face, as blood spatters it motley red. Looks grimly beautiful for the shortest moment.

Until shock leaves her contorting face and she cries out in pain.

With a knife in her shoulder, blood trails her slide down the wall. He wonders for a moment _how _the knife didn't pierce her heart.

Then he wonders why.

He'd hesitated.

The Courier lifts the doctor by the neck again, wrenching a whimper from her. Tears fell from her eyes.

Sympathy for the poor woman stirred in his chest.

Injuring a healer was an evil. If only consorting with slavers wasn't even graver.

Footsteps filled the halls behind him.

_No time to feel sorry for the enemy. _"_**My things!**_" he growls, as intimidatingly as he can.

Karin points to a door, above which a sign that said "ARMORY" hung.

He hoisted the doctor up against him by her waist, and ran there.

He was prudent to turn around as he neared the door. More soldiers were waiting with aimed weapons toward him, but wouldn't shoot with the doctor in the way.

The green holograph blinked at his touch, and the door opened behind him. The Courier slid backwards.

"_**Follow, and she dies.**_"

With that, the door closed, and he dropped her to the ground.

Only Karin's soft sobs could be heard.

He quickly took all belongings he could carry in a fight.

The belt of bullets slithered round his waist, joined the criss-cross bandoliers on his person, along with the revolvers, before the lever-action carbine joined them.

He held the carbine to his back, and the space between it and his back simply vanished as magnets pulled it.

Karin looks up, wiping her eyes.

Something… confusing happens.

He searches the cloths, scours beneath them thoroughly, but didn't bat an eye at the heavy weaponry, as if it never occurred to him to use them.

Instead, he looked and looked, before stopping at the table on the far end of the room.

When his hand pulled out from underneath the cloth, it was holding his necklace.

He held it up by its leather lace, the totemic stone swaying in the air.

His eyes regarded it solemnly, and draped across his chest.

"_**They're alive**_," its dark voice told her, the demon come to punish her. "_**Wipe your tears before you're given reason to spill them.**_"

It looked to see her still weeping.

Loud footsteps stomped her way.

"_**Where am I being taken?**_"

"Nowhere. We are i-in Omega." The words trembled leaving her lips. "We f-found you–"

It growled low in frustration, and she couldn't stop her eyes from shutting hard. She kept squeezing them, again and again, as if she could wish it away.

It dropped to a knee and surged its mask forward, an inch from her face.

"_**How do I **_**leave!**" Its black, hateful breath was so close it seemed to bellow in her ear. Her frayed nerves jolted her. Its impatience thickened the room's tension, till it felt like she was choking on it. "_**Expect**_ _**the door by the bridge won't**_** open,**" it said. "**_N_ot**_** for me, not with the security in this place. Just as well don't expect to leave without another fight.**_"

She breathed, opened her eyes then dared open her mouth. "Y-you… didn't kill them…"

It was silent. Stared at her, like it was trying to make out her sins, find an excuse to punish her.

She realized how wrong she had read this human when he said, "_**Made a promise.**_"

A huff left her.

She didn't understand.

"Th-The commander… She saw you. Everyone tried to kill you. They shot at you."

"_**But I made a promise,**_" he pointed out, like it all made perfect sense."**_You promised to get me here. Haven't broken _**_**your word. Why would I?**_"

Karin didn't know what to say to that.

"I… I can convince the commander to open the exit for you."

He nodded curtly. "_**If I somehow escape without having to kill you, make sure to let them know **_**you're**_** the only reason they're breathing.**_"

_The only reason… _his own words rang hollow to him. Felt like he was trying to convince himself of that rather than her. He tried to ignore how he had hesitated squeezing as hard as he could when he held the shepherd's throat in his hand.

"_**Now pay attention, doctor. I'm going out of that door we came in from, and through the gate by the bridge. You're going to do your best to make sure they give way as well.**_"

She nodded slowly, her composure and dignity returning to her. She looked wise befitting her age again.

"_**One last question.**_"

"Yes?" she said, so inappropriately polite he almost chuckled.

"_**Are you a healer?**_"

The question was so sudden and out of nowhere she took pause. "I am a doctor. I've taken the Hippocratic Oath, and have never broken it. I've done no harm. Don't intend to, either. If that's your definition of healer, you won't find a greater exemplar."

"_**Recall the Oath only applies to patients.**_"

"With so many bloody revisions of it, who knows?"

That time he actually chuckled, a low, harsh sound even to his own ears. His throat was still unused to it.

Must've been out cold a long time.

Her shoulders eased, though her eyes were yet wary. "But, yes. It applies to patients, and you are – were, I should say – one of them."

"_**So you say.**_"

She was quiet. No attempt to deny it.

Or maybe she mistakenly thought there was no point to it.

It wasn't impossible, he knew that. Or… maybe he wanted to believe he wasn't betrayed by himself and his dream.

But he had to get out of here, clear his head first. Only way to be sure.

Best not to kill anyone before then.

"_**As unlikely it may be you're telling the truth…**_" he began.

She stared, tensely.

"…_**If you are, then I beg your forgiveness. For I've have made a grave mistake, and a sin.**_"

A sin, said he she thought was a demon.

She was too shocked to even laugh at the ironic choice of words.

"_**But if the likely is what's the truth, that you're lying to me, and I discover this… Well, threats are redundant. What I'll do to you and everyone on this ship will be punishment enough for that.**_"

She nodded grimly. Repressed a shiver in her spine.

His hand snaked up to his necklace, grabbed the stone in his hand. Even through the glove he felt its warmth. Her warmth.

She was with him always.

But his hand slipped from the stone, and a cold clarity gripped his mind.

The cold of a gaze.

_I feel _her _eyes on me again. Not so warm anymore._

"_**Get up.**_"

This time, he made sure his grip to be gentle, up until the door opened.

He pulled the Remington from its holster, pressed its barrel to her neck.

"Karin!" came a distinct voice from the crowd of soldiers, a crowd which had been considerably thinned out.

"Shepherd!" she cried back, almost joyous.

The ranks parted, and he saw her fierce gaze burning at him.

He doesn't know what he feels looking at her, but he can't trust her.

He stepped forward unrelentingly. They can do nothing but back up.

He jerked his head for them to move toward the other side of the room.

A glint from a gold patch, a shadow, a speck of movement struck the corner of his eyes. He turned his head and saw the black-and-white of a soldier's uniform.

He thumbed down the hammer, pointed the Remington down the hallway of bleeding, unconscious soldiers, and shot.

The Remington bellowed a burning cry of gunpowder, and shrieked with the metallic sound of something else which thrummed shrill through the room.

The soldier cried out in pain.

"Hadley!" Another soldier ran around the room to where he lay bleeding and screaming as the Courier placed the smoking barrel near the doctor's unblemished skin.

Not too close, or he'd burn the poor woman.

When his gaze returned to the rest, they looked surprised.

_They couldn't scan the guns_, he realized. _They thought it was just another pair of revolvers._

"What do you want?" the commander said.

"_**To leave.**_"

His voice shocked her, but her anger was fervid and consumed everything else.

"You kidnap the doc, assault my crew, break my soldiers' bones until they can only scream, and now shoot one,_ just because you wanted to leave_!? You have any idea what you've done to them?!"

"_**I shot your Hadley because he tried to flank me. Keep your dogs on a leash and they won't be put down. As for your thugs in the hallway, I could have done a lot worse.**_" His words were dismissive, he knew that, but it was the truth.

And at least he didn't shrug. It seemed so provocative a gesture at times he rarely ever did.

For the better, too, it seemed. Her scowl was a grave one. "You son of a bitch!"

Her anger was like few he had beheld. It was a protective passion. Burning at him, so like a conflagration. He soon felt it consume him, a red that threatened to overtake his vision and senses, and make him do horrible, horrible things and-

Karin cried out.

He had squeezed the doctor too hard.

The Courier whispered a quiet apology to the doctor, then banished the anger, refused it.

Didn't even consider where it came from.

Just the same, the commander took a breath and calmed. Her face softened, but remained firm. "So why didn't you do worse?"

"_**Made a promise to the doctor not to kill anyone else if she led me out of this prison. Underestimated you, but in the end she didn't break her word.**_"

"Noble of you," she said dryly, clearly distrusting.

"_**Spare me the juvenile sarcasm. You do not hold a monopoly on principles over me simply because I am your enemy.**_"

For the first time, the commander seemed taken aback. Not drastically - in fact, subtly - but it was the first time she relented, as he could tell by the retreating animus of her demeanor.

He felt the smallest bit victorious, but that was quickly eclipsed by something new on her expression, something infuriatingly unjust, that made her beautiful face less beautiful to his eyes.

Disappointment.

"Goddamn it," she said, like frustrated mother. "We saved _you_, you realize that, right?"

…Disappointment?

"_**SAVED!?**_" The bellow tore its way suddenly through his throat. Karin flinched against him.

_How dare she!? Like she was the one betrayed!_

The Courier was taking umbrage at an imagined betrayal, he realized this. Even if he had every right to this anger, the way they had captured him, taken him from his family, it wasn't the sort of person he wanted to be. Someone who conducted this way. It was too childish. Shameful.

But he didn't care enough to be ashamed.

It was satisfying to see the commander's surprise and her soldiers recoil.

"_**I know good and goddamn well that's a lie! Like you aren't with the Legion!**_"

He saw genuine confusion on her face. He felt as lost in this place as she looked, but he pushed that away.

"_**I am attacked by my mortal enemies, shot, burned, have my armor melted into me like a second fucking skin, and am blown up before waking up strapped down to a table like I was being prepared for vivisection! 'Cerberus,' I heard from your own mouth when you thought I was unconscious. Cerberus! A coincidence?**_"

The commander stared. He could see he had her at a loss for words.

He kept pushing. Challenging. "_**Why was I strapped down?**_"

The bridge was close.

"You had an earring!"

The response was so nonsensical he couldn't help but say, "_**What?**_"

"Like a keyring, but with ears. Remember that, you goddamn psycho?"

"_**Legionaries! Slavers! Nothing to mourn.**_"

For the first time, her gun faltered. She seemed truly surprised.

_You don't even know who you're working with? What did you think them? Re-enactors? You goddamn fool._

He growled, and it was of true frustration, not an intimidation tactic._**"'Ignore him, take care of Garrus.' I'm sure you remember that. And you want to claim you helped me."**_

"…Shit," she sighed under her breath, so quietly no normal human could hear.

No normal human.

_I fucking knew it! You treacherous bitch!_ His teeth ground together, jaw bulging.

"Shepherd, please!" the doctor pleaded despairingly. "This is all a big misunderstanding! A tragedy, but it doesn't need to get worse. Just let him go. Hot blood will only lead to it spilling. He won't hurt us if he doesn't have to!"

Karin was right.

As betrayed as he felt, he wasn't blinded by it.

Killing the shepherd now might make things easier, but he was just as likely to regret it if he was wrong about her.

It was a big if, but not an impossible one.

_Hate can wait,_ he reminded himself.

Hate had cost him enough already.

His burning heart calmed, because it had to. He kept the Remington on Jane, but un-cocked the hammer, a quiet click that helped disarm his agitated nerves.

She heard it, posture calmed. Her trigger finger coiled out of the trigger guard and laid flat across the length of the stocky pistol.

He exposes himself, pushes Karin aside ever so slightly, that only her hawk's eyes can notice.

Thankfully, she takes it as the token of reluctant trust that it is.

For a moment, her eyes flick down to his chest abruptly, and widen with confusion.

Over his heart, on his armor's chest, he had painted something after he pondered what history with which to mark his new armor.

_'__LEFT MY HATRED IN THE SIERRA MADRE'_

She can't fully see it, perhaps the first two words, fortunately.

It's too personal, close to his heart.

Yes, that pun was a reason he wrote it there. Among other, more serious ones.

He shifts his shoulder and the trench-coat falls over it.

He lets go of Karin, and pulls out his Colt to point it at the back of her head. "_**Bring a chair.**_" He gestures his Remington toward the red-head. "_**Open the gate behind me. One that leads out of here.**_"

"Don't fire," the shepherd tells her sheep, and an omni-tool forms around her forearm.

He heard the sound of an opening door behind him as Karin approaches, chair in both hands.

"_**Chair's metal?**_"

"Yes."

"_**Put that in the doorway, so the gate can't be closed.**_"

His gun's barrel never leaves her, even if his eyes do. The tracker he put on her shirt's nape helped to predict her movement behind him.

The chair clanged on the ground.

"_**Return.**_"

The Courier had been staring at the shepherd's face all the while, so he missed the dark-skinned soldier, bruised, enter the room and aim the barrel of a sniper at him.

The muzzle blinks like a glint from the sun, just as the burning pain hits him.

No sound leaves his mouth as he jerks back.

Funnily enough, it is the commander that yells out curses.

Why? he wondered. Then he sees it.

He knows she hadn't meant for it to happen, and is simply doing what she thinks needs to be done to save her dear friend. She thought he'd go berserk.

_Once upon a time._

She runs at him, fires off the one shot she was time for at his chest before throwing the pistol aside.

Karin gasps with fear behind him, clearly doesn't realize, just like Shepherd, that the Courier could see the mishap on the commander's face, knows it was a mistake.

As he jerks back from the shot of her pistol's burning round, he aims his revolver, cocks the hammer, and shoots the soldier who had sniped him, before jamming both revolvers in their holsters.

His right leg sweeps gracefully back to balance against his fall back, he ducks low, and surges forth, meeting the shepherd's charge with fists pulled back.

She proves exceptionally quick, deceptively strong, and had proved herself cunning enough to use her environment.

But he's stronger, quicker. Chairs don't make a dent on his armor and there's not even that to be found in the narrow bridge he leads her into. He meets her hand-to-hand techniques with ease.

Suddenly, she realizes he's trapped her.

They could risk shooting the doctor, but not their commander, and here she stood blocking any clear view of the Courier they might have had, an unwitting human shield.

Her only choices were to back out of the bridge, which would give him ample time to escape, or fight him in admirable but futile defiance.

But he hadn't yet shown she can't take him, so she fought on bravely.

He evades her swift strikes impeccably, and frustration shows and grows on her face as the fight goes on. His swiping aside her fists are infuriatingly effortless.

She knows he's too heavy, she can't even push him back unless she hits him, which is proving quick impossible.

Hopelessness soon ousts the frustration.

It pains him to see it, makes him almost share the feeling.

So he launches a violent hook, one he knows she can dodge.

The metal of the beam was strong, but clanged loudly, and when he pulled back his fist, the shape of a knuckle could be seen faintly.

She'd see it, and know to back off. This was his plan.

A sound like the humming of a blade echoes in the hallway.

…What was that?

…Pain…

Sharp, burning. It lances through his body.

He looks down to see her hand gauntleted with an omni-tool that was different from the doctor's. A holographic blade which felt _very _corporeal formed from it, and she had buried half of it in his stomach.

Smoke wafted from the cut. The smell it carried was worse than the wound.

The shepherd panted, chest heaving and rivulets of sweat gliding down her forehead into her burning eyes.

A burning breath of regret as much as relief left her tired lungs.

Mistaken that the fight was over.

She jumps when a hand suddenly clutches around her fist. The blade is pulled out slowly, to the sound of cauterized flesh. When the knife is naked but for the boiling blood spilling off its hot, smoking edge, the hand twists it until she can't move her arm.

Relief was no longer on her face, but disbelief. Her head cranes up.

Towering over her like her own Eyes of Sauron, two red beams stare down from the black peak, seeming to shine with malice and hatred, burning brighter and brighter, until the world became a bloody mist.

"_What… the fuck?_" she whispers her thoughts aloud, squinting blind.

His other hand grabs her same shoulder, weaves, twists, and yanks, until her whole arm makes disgusting, audible cracks. Her screams joins them.

"_Shepherd!_" The doctor looked at her friend's deformed arm with horror.

He let it go, and it hung limp at her side, twisted like an old tree's branch against its trunk.

The Courier put the Remington's hot barrel to the helpless shepherd's neck, and she could only flinch with gritted teeth as he held her and backed away into the gate.

The soldiers ran up to the doorway, all reeking of cold fear.

The shepherd smells of a grim acceptance… she is defeated.

How odd that smell is…

"EDI," the shepherd says, voice pained but firm. "Let him go."

"Commander–" one of the soldiers began.

"Stand down, soldiers!"

The room was silent, but that silence was broken not long after by a voice. "Are you sure, Commander?"

It's robotic cadence – why, it was an Artificial Intelligence!

Curious…

Dumb or smart, he couldn't tell.

Her sigh drifted in the room like a breeze. "Yeah."

They stood and watched, helpless, as the gate closed with a foreboding hum of metal.

The gate behind him made louder, different noises than the ship's. Sounds were even coming in from outside.

_It must be the dock's._

"Make it quick," she said.

The words came out of nowhere, but it wasn't surprising.

Even in real life, she sounded like she had been fighting a long war, and wanted it to end more than anything else.

He put his hand to her back, and pushed her forward.

She caught herself on the curved entrance gate with her one functioning arm. Grunts of pain leave her.

"_**Turn around,**_" he ordered.

She does, pushes herself aside to fall, back against the door.

He only sees it now, so obsessed before with an imagined betrayal.

And it breaks his heart...

Her scars. They looked worse than in his dream. Glowing like lava, a fire constantly torturing her.

_Why do you care?_ someone asked. Was it his own thoughts?

Even as the Remington's hammer clicked, she didn't move.

The AI's voice spoke again. "Commander, I heavily advise against–"

"This is an organic thing, EDI," she interrupted. "You wouldn't understand." The words were facetious, but her spirit was resigned. He couldn't be fooled by the false amusement.

"I disagree, Commander Shepherd. This is poor judgement characteristic of psychological trauma, which, considering the events you–"

"EDI!" Suddenly, she wasn't in so droll a mood anymore.

Turned his gaze away from her upset face, to her eyes.

Suddenly, he understands.

Her eyes were just as they had been in his dreams. Haunted. Deep in thought. Vulnerable in a too-familiar way.

He is honest with himself, and admits that it was the memory of those eyes, which he had seen in his reflection, and never as obviously as when he woke up in Doc Mitchell's house with two new scars on his head, which kept his revolver barrels from aiming toward vitals. It was those eyes that held back his punches and hooks and kicks and slashes, which had aimed that thrown kitchen knife away from the dark-haired woman's heart and toward her shoulder. Which kept him from clenching his hand around the shepherd's neck and breaking it.

And now, it keeps his finger from the trigger.

_They know Veronica's name,_ he tried to reason with his heart._ Attacked you. They ally with Legion._

These were likely prospects, even if they weren't facts.

But he couldn't believe them.

Or didn't want to.

At the least, he could comfort himself with knowing he wasn't going to let this go, he'd find her and her crew again.

For better or worse.

The gate behind him groaned. He backed out of it slowly. Aim unfaltering.

The hammer was relieved safely. He flourished the revolver habitually and holstered it.

She processed what just happened slowly, and blinked coming out of her thoughts.

Green, staring eyes widen.

She does not understand.

The Courier continued backing onto the dark pier. He felt his hobnailed boots click against the floor beneath him.

He had to be on a pier.

But it didn't feel or sound like stone or wood. It felt like metal.

And there was smell of neither freshwater nor saltwater. The smell was something he didn't recognize.

He gives a quick glance to the side… then does a double take.

All Shepard sees of this unpredictable, unfathomable stranger in armor is him standing on the dock with Omega's distant buildings like pillars of a grimy, noir temple behind him.

His head turned to the side, toward space, and stayed there. Staring

She frowned. Something was wrong.

He does not understand.

The disbelief was in his body, posture.

But the despair, _that_ she heard in his voice.

"No…" he said, and for the first time, he is not a dream come impossibly to life, or a monster terrorizing her crew, or the death to relieve her of her impossible duty.

He is human, and as lost among the stars as every other soul in Omega.

He dropped to his knees with a loud clang against the metal floor, staring into the abyss.

Perhaps more so.

The docking gate closed. Leaving her with turbulent thoughts, and the machinery under her skin.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick._

* * *

**Alternative chapter name: The Courier, the Shepherd, and the Cook.**

**By the way, I know how I wrote Shepard wrong, but considering it's from a stranger's perspective, he'd mistake the name as being written as "Shepherd". Same goes for Rex.**

**So I'm curious, because despite what it looks like I'm an awful writer, in th****at I don't know when my writing is good or bad. How was this chapter? Was its pacing reminiscent enough of the first and second one? I can't imagine it's the exact same, because this chapter's events occur within a considerably shorter time span.**

**I try to write thoughts and motives just the way you might describe actions to make the reader feel like they're seeing it from a character's perspective, and some seem to think the first few chapters did that well. So I'm wondering, d****id this chapter feel immersive, too? If not, what was missing?**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.**

**Next chapter: Sifting through the debris (from Shepard's perspective), and an outside look into Omega (from the Courier's)**


	8. The alpha and the Omega

**So university is starting this monday, and I have no idea how much I'm going to be able to write. I seriously doubt it'll be anything but slower than currently.**

** I'll try to not turn it into last spring in university where I did literally almost nothing except study and play, and instead sacrifice some game-time and whatever else for writing, considering my aspirations of becoming a professional writer. Besides, this is a story I want to continue, with all the ideas going on around my head. It's just I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write said ideas down.**

**Fair warning.**

**Thanks for all your support so far, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

When the Normandy opened, Shepard was greeted with five rifle barrels and as many faces, surprise scratched into each one.

She didn't wait for them to lower their guns to stride past them, gritting teeth behind lips. Her left arm throbbed so horribly she felt like she'd go feral. She couldn't remember the last time she hurt this much. (That was a lie, but she preferred not to remember it.)

The soldiers called after her, but all she could see was Taylor. Desperate to find something redeemable, cool her blood. His face was bruised from where she had flown into him, and he was stumbling where she was not, and this was despite being less injured than her.

Goddamn him.

_Fucking weak as well as an idiot!_ she fumed.

He stared at the ground, eyes angry, until he saw her feet. His furrowed brow rose, and when he saw her his eyes widened.

With one hand and every fiber of fury in her she grabbed the sniper from him and slammed its stock one-handed into his face. Blood spurt on her scowl as he fell backward and hit the ground groaning.

The voices behind her became suddenly urgent, but she did not relent.

Shepard clutched the operative's collar, pulled him up to his feet, and slammed him hard into the wall by his throat. His eyes were wide, strained, coarse breaths escaping him.

"Did I give the signal?!" she yelled, clenching in anger. He could only choke and gasp.

She ignored the yelling behind her again.

"Did. I. Give. The signal?!"

This time, she felt him try to shake his head.

"So what _the fuck_ was that? You wanted to play a hero? Was that it?"

Pain speared through her shoulder and chest, but it only made her grip tighten. He couldn't even hope to move.

"You know what the fuck you just shot!? He could've killed every single one of us if he wanted to! I would've been thanking him for defusing _your_ fuck-up if he hadn't started it! I had it under control, you stupid son of a bitch!"

"Shepard!"

That was the last drop in the well of rage. "_WHAT!?_" Shepard snapped, spinning her head around.

Karin recoiled.

…_Fuck._

Her grip loosened as she realized who she'd raised her voice at.

A choked voice gasped out, "_C-c-commander…_"

She opened his hand, and heard Taylor drop to the ground. Panting.

"_Argh!_" she exclaimed, the pain abruptly burning her nerves with a sharp, debilitating pain. "Fuck!"

Karin immediately approached, forgetting her shock. "Come on, you need–"

"No!" She pushed her away. "I'll live," Shepard reassured calmly. "You need to see to the wounded."

"_You_ are wounded," the doctor tried to deadpan, but her distress was as bare in her voice as it was in her eyes.

"I said I'll live. Now give me some painkillers and get to it. No time to waste."

Karin could only sigh, shaking her head. "_God damn you, Shepard_," she whispered, so low only Jane heard it.

The doctor had been through too much, Shepard could see, and now Jane was asking her to ignore her friend's injuries in favor of strangers and Cerberus.

But Shepard wasn't putting her admittedly-thoroughly broken arm first with all the internal bleedings undoubtedly going on. That guy hit hard, and when she first stepped out of the elevator to be greeted with broken soldiers and Miranda with a knife sticking out of her shoulder…

"_Miranda…_" rasped a voice. But it didn't come from her thoughts.

She turned around. "Get up," she said, tugging Jacob harshly to his feet.

He steadied himself with a hand to the wall. "He almost killed Miranda, Shepard."

She shook her head.

He saw on her face disappointment.

"You could have killed every person on this ship. Every avenue that could have been taken to increase our chances just the slightest bit more, you failed to consider. You let your emotions cloud your judgement, acted in a reckless, short-sighted manner - the danger of which should have been made more than clear when you saw a hallway full of broken soldiers - and you managed a complete lack of communication to your fellow soldiers, subordinate, and your superordinate right before taking the biggest risk of your life. Never forget that you put the lives of _everyone_ in serious jeopardy."

Jacob couldn't meet her eyes. Good. Clearly he had things to think on.

Shepard sighed. She was tired.

"But, I don't understand," said another crewman, male. "It was one guy. You're Commander Shepard, and we were with you all the way." Way to remind her she failed to protect her own once again. "How the hell did he manage to fuck us up as bad as he did all alone? What's more, the guy almost killed everyone? How can you say that? You're talking like we were helpless, like we didn't stand a chance."

"We didn't," she said, to her crew's disma. "Not as it stood, unarmored, unprepared. I fought him. I know."

Somehow, after everything, they found that hard to believe. "So why didn't he kill us all?"

"I don't know," she raised her voice, frustrated, "maybe he was adamant about keeping his promise to the doc."

The soldier looked like he couldn't believe his ears.

"Are you saying he _let_ us live?" a voice said behind her.

"That's exactly what I'm saying. He had his gun pointed at my head, but instead of pulling the trigger, he holstered it, in full view of me, just before the gate closed and he– got away."

What a crock of shit. He didn't get away. He looked like he jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

_Were we just a hiccup to this guy?_

"Everyone's working overtime," she finished with. "Myself included. I'm getting to the bottom of who, how, and why security failed."

"Yes, ma'am!" the crewmen said.

"After that, I'm leaving for the salarian doctor." Chakwas looked hopeless, and resigned to her orders by carrying Jacob away.

Shepard was truly sorry, but this wasn't the time to be a friend. These people needed a commander. So on her orders, the uninjured helped carry the injured up to the med-bay.

Leaving Shepard in a now-empty CIC.

She walked past the turian-designed Commander's Podium, pushed her back against the wall, and slid down it slowly. Her broken arm hung limp from her shoulder.

"EDI, status report," she commanded.

"Twelve soldiers and operatives including you wounded. Two non-combatants wounded. Namely, Mess Sergeant Gardner and Karin."

She sighed, head falling. Her hair, which in the dark seemed as bloody as her arm, fell around her face. It made her feel solitary. The slightest bit peaceful, too, finally.

She rubbed her eyes with her fingers.

"If you require rest–"

"It's fine. I _asked_ for a report, give it," she muttered.

EDI continued. "You will be pleased to know minimal structural damage is present, and only a bent barstool and a warped fridge is the extent of physical damages within the ship."

"Not exactly," said Joker's voice, stunned.

Shepard looked up and saw him. "Joker–"

"Come look at this, Commander."

Joker quickly turned to limp back inside the bridge. She stood and followed.

"What's up?" They both stopped just before the exit, where he fucked up her arm. She felt claustrophobic here.

Joker hadn't said anything, but he lifted a shaky arm and pointed to a beam along the inner hull.

There, barely an inch above her head, was the faintest imprint of... a fist?

Joker spoke, "That's–"

"Where he almost punched me…" she breathed dazedly, amazed.

The impossible dent captured her, entrances her, terrified her.

She heard his amazement. "That's a fist?!"

EDI spoke up suddenly, "I analyzed the structural damage to measure the force. Concerningly, though the footage shows the man putting great effort and strain into the strike, he still managed to surpass human physical limitations."

"Be specific," she ordered. He was strong, anyone who denied that was an idiot. Especially her, having been used as a Frisbee by the son of a bitch.

But _this_? If he was capable of surpassing the human…

Had he been holding back on her?

The AI elaborated, "The previously-thought deceased man's weight is vastly light in comparison to an adult, armored krogan, but somehow, in spite of this, my scans show the kinetic force of his strike managed alone to almost match the full-bodied, blood-crazed charge of one, falling short with a margin of only five-point-three-seven percent. That amount of joule concentrated on the surface area of a human fist... You evaded certain death, Shepard."

Jesus-fucking-Christ.

Certain death doesn't begin to describe it, Shepard knows.

"This indicates he was either physically augmented, or wearing powered armor. The latter theory is derived from the footage of when you stabbed him with your omni-blade. Though the blade did go through, it was caught halfway, which it should not have, considering that the armor was not of a material strong enough to stop the blade's initial penetration. The sudden increase in heat from the blade should have made it only more susceptible to further penetration. Therefore, it is possible your blade got caught on a power-armor's endo-skeleton frame."

EDI paused for a moment.

"Commander, you should know, the most concerning and likely possibility is that the man was _both_ augmented and using powered armor."

"What?" was all she managed in her awe

"If his armor is indeed powered, then, relatively, it is far too slim, and thus impossible, to be the bulk of his strength and weight. This is considering the modern power-armor technology, _even if _he had been using what would be considered state-of-the-art. That your omni-blade managed at all to pierce it, as well as the absence of shielding, tells me it can only be prototypical, inferior power-armor. That means that the majority of his strength, stamina, physical endurance, as well as enhanced reflexes, all come from his augmentations."

"Shepard, if he manages to obtain armor from an above-average manufacturer he will be extremely dangerous and resilient, perhaps beyond our current means of neutralizing. I would exercise extreme caution against him, and plan contingencies in case of another attack from him."

There was an unnerved silence in the bridge.

Joker tried getting her attention. "Shepard?"

But Jane didn't answer. As she stared at the dent, only one thought filled her head.

_Who the fuck did I just fistfight?_

* * *

It had been one night, and the Courier already felt too familiar of this place.

Wherever he was, it was too reminiscent of Freeside, in the worst of ways. That is, the Freeside he had arrived to, having first arrived in New Vegas.

Poverty and disrepair of both the economical and the spiritual ran rampant through here, like a disease.

Not to say he was above it. Had been a bodyguard, pimp, an assassin, a debt collector. Before he became leader of the place.

Still, made _this_ place no less vile.

The buildings were noir, grimy, pulsating with garish lights from shops and vendors. The shops themselves, though expected to be alien considering where he was, still managed to surprise him with their… repulsiveness.

What products he did recognize could not have been healthy or legal, but just like in Freeside that mattered little to the customers.

And the people, their eyes held a familiar ilk of distrust. But they were a product of their surroundings, and the Courier held only understanding for them.

Had he been in their shoes, what was sold would have mattered just as little to him, and just the same he'd have called one of these grimy buildings his home.

Still, one thing he couldn't imagine living beside in this kind of world… was the aliens.

He had figured out not long after he escaped the Normandy that he was in a different world where aliens and humans lived as one. At least in this place.

The thought of co-existing was not one of repulsion or hate.

It was all so sudden, so unexpected.

His initial theory of a part of humanity escaping the planet before the bombs fell was only strengthened, but with all that's happened in his life, a different reality in the literal sense was not off the table. Some years ago he could never have imagined something like the Think Tank existing outside of pre-war Science Fiction comics.

Suddenly, a terrifying idea occurred to him.

…_The transportalponder!_

Could it be? With the disturbances to the Securitrons point-defense...

Could the same source have disturbed the teleportation?

This is bad.

Abysmal.

Possibly hopeless.

God-fucking-dammit.

How would he get back?

Where will he start?

Is he overreacting?

Another question, different, occurred to him.

…Would it matter?

No. That was the one answer he had.

Even if he _wasn't_ overreacting, managed to land himself in god knows where, where one plus one equals three, a door that had been opened once can be opened again, even if it is currently closed.

But where was the key?

Too many questions.

_One at a time,_ he told himself. Like Whiskey Rose said, he should cross the bridge when he got to it.

For now, his journey would take him through the market in front of him.

He jumped down off his perch overlooking the market, slid down the wall, easing his fall by gripping nooks and cracks along the way. He landed soundlessly, and dusted himself off.

It was time to face the music (as Rose sometimes also said).

He looked down both ends of the alley, pressed a finger to his helmet, shutting the red of the visor off, and walked toward the direction of the marketplace.

The deactivated eyes of the helmet did little to take any attention off it. The moment he stepped into the open, eyes fell on him. It became noticeably quieter.

The last thing to do in a situation like this was acknowledge it, so he strode along the vendors, feigning interest in purchasing. He had soon managed to seem just another part of the crowd. If a distinct, towering, and considerably armored part.

The music he had faced was of an absurd, surreal tune; like gangly, gnarled fingers strumming at oil-tainted strings.

To have walked past creatures four-eyed and spike-mouthed, great organic tanks with gills for mouths, like they were an everyday part of his routine…

He could only be grateful for the mask hiding his bewilderment.

_I dreamed all of them._

It was not a dream like any he had ever had before – one that came true. Should start taking greater stock in them, maybe.

Though he came there with the intent of observing, he soon became the observed, as a horrible shrieking noise sounded behind him.

An incident started when he spun around, whipping the Remington out and pointing it at whatever creature made the startling noise.

It was one of Garrus' species, hands raised with panicked and surprised eyes.

Thankfully, it had a human friend who spoke English and helped defuse the situation. For when he mentioned translation software, the Courier soon realized his mistake.

He was the only one here that couldn't understand

He made his way out of there, cloaking as soon as he turned down an alley, just a small bit wiser about the world. Garrus' species were called the turian.

That was the first day.

The second day was mostly spent observing the Normandy.

It made no sign of leaving whatsoever, and the entrance gate didn't so much as tremor.

It did, however, become monotonous, so he left it to find a good place to sleep. He hadn't shut his eyes properly in hours.

At the end of the second day, he found a large residential area where a plague ran rampant, where he had snuck glances of diseased aliens.

Armed men quarantine its site without a single sign of helping intentions.

It disgusted him.

His thoughts, however revolted, was soon interrupted by armed men of four.

Blue, sleek armors were highlighted white, shone dully like diseased whites of eyes. All were helmeted, but shapes told him they were all aliens.

They approached the quarantine guard casually, but after the turian suddenly shot raised its rifle and shot him, horrifying the human woman who he was talking to, they quickly entered a trained position and advanced into the infected residence area.

The Courier didn't intervene, but he followed. They had let the human woman go. Either they didn't care about witnesses, or they wanted them.

They scoured every corner of the district along their path, and they did so professionally.

The cowering aliens, infected or otherwise, were passed by without a scratch, which made him wonder.

Were they after someone specific?

It was a question answered as they came across a group of three humans, a family of a father, a mother, and a teenage son.

They raised their weapons at the family, in spite of the pleading and insistence of innocence. The armored aliens barked at them angrily.

At _uninfected_ humans… regarding them with such palpable hate even an ignorant like him could tell from their alien demeanors.

The Courier had a vague idea as to what they were doing.

His medicine stick was pulled it from its magnetic holster. Its stock shouldered. Red eye peering down the barrel.

The same, odd shriek not native to gunpowder weaponry sounded. Thin spears of flame and smoke pierced the air, and again, and again, and again, and four headless bodies with charred stumps fell.

Only one blue-armored turian remained. It shrieked frantically, firing at the rooftops randomly, in an irregular, panicked pattern. Like the shadow of discipline.

The sky was dark and there was no shimmer from his cloaking as he jumped.

Falcata flashed pale as the rider, trench-coat whipped violently as he fell from the sky; dust kicked up where he landed. All the humans saw were red eyes, and a dirty, long blade sinking into the unarmored neck of the turian.

The man huddled over his family protectively as the corpse fell to the ground.

"_**Not**_ _**the**_ _**time to be afraid.**_" He shoved the falcate into its sheath. "_**I need answers, and someone is sure to have heard the shots.**_"

"Don't hurt us, please!" the man begged, too afraid to face him.

He gestured to the bodies. "_**Do I look as if this is a hobby for me, or did I do this to save you?**_"

The man finally looked up, hesitant trembling. "H-honestly?"

He was bemused. "_**If you consider yourselves decent folk, repay me by talking. What are they?**_"

"B-Blue Suns," the fearful, now confused man, stammered.

That couldn't be a species, these dead things were several different ones. "_**A culture?**_"

He seemed even more confused. "Mercs."

_Someone hired them to do this. _Whoever it was, he had the Courier's attention.

His family now looked up at him too. Slowly, they realized he wasn't here for them.

"_**What are the creatures called? I know the mandibled ones are turians. But what about the four-eyed ones?**_"

They all looked at him incredulously.

Before the father could answer, clamoring and barking of aliens came from whence the now-deceased group had marched like grim reapers.

The father looked at him pleadingly.

"_**Go,**_" he ordered calmly before a word could leave the man's mouth.

He was given desperately thankful looks by the parents, but the boy stood still. "Who are you?" He was boyishly featured, pimpled, but his jaw had begun waxing strong. His eyes were pale and expressive.

"Raleigh, what are you doing!?" said the father, frustrated.

"Wait, dad!" the kid insisted, before the Courier suddenly pushed him back.

"**_Are you slow_**_**,**_" he barked calmly, "_**Do as your dad says and run!**_"

His dad strode up and grabbed him by the wrist, yanked him along.

"_**I'll find you,**_" he promised, if only to wipe that disappointed look of the kid's face.

He got a smile. One that stirred another, beneath his own mask.

When they were out of sight, he turned as his form was taken into no-sight.

The group of six Blue Suns turned the corner to find carnage. They neared, and saw it had been made of their brothers.

By the time these new Blue Suns had been killed and their bodies hidden (atop the tallest rooftops he could find and climb), he found himself on the rooftop overlooking the street the humans were walking down.

The Courier sat down on the edge and let his legs hang.

His stomach growled, and his muscles were rarely made to burn with exhaustion anymore, but his mind was never free.

He was too tired finally to even retrospect. Eyes heavy.

He let out a sigh.

An interplanetary (at the least) society would find little use for the thousand bottlecaps on him, and he wasn't stealing from people he wasn't sure was an asshole and deserved it.

He didn't even know what was edible or not, there were more species in this place than fingers on one hand.

Human hand, that is.

Besides, not as if he was desperate. Eaten stringy molerat rather than sleep on an empty stomach before.

But his work wasn't finished. If his theory was true, every human here was suspect in having spread this seemingly selective disease, thus subject to xenophobic retaliation. He was leaving neither situation unattended.

When the Courier got up and followed the family's tracks, he found they had evolved into a group of refugees, motley and ragtag of different species, though those were fewer. The disease left considerably more humans than aliens left alive.

The only ones that refused vehemently were the four-eyed ones, pointed accusingly at the humans, hated them.

It wasn't long before the survivors came across something of a stronghold. In this place, the definition of one was loose.

A building, with a number of sentries, and a perimeter that wasn't, for it was enclosed with adjacent buildings, the streets which led to its one entrance the only ways to get in.

Other than the rooftops, he was willing to wager.

Through the windows, he spied humans and aliens running around in attire similar to the Normandy's doctor, Chakwas. They accepted only the sick aliens, and one human who had medical experience. The rest were let go.

But not abandoned, it seemed.

Four squares were brought out and placed before the group, and unfolded into humanoid robots with pistols at their hips.

They left four robots more secure, and toward an abandoned apartment building on the other side of the clinic.

The Courier followed, of course, even scouted, just to make sure it was safe.

Only when watching them enter the unmarred, sturdy, if dirty building did he relax.

The father, mother, and the boy Raleigh all waved them through the entrance, making sure everyone was accounted for.

The father was forcing himself to stay strong, as was the mother, though her composure was not as steady, but Raleigh's anxiety wasn't hidden one bit.

Instead, Raleigh looked as if he was going to pass out, and his waving hand tremored like glass about to shatter.

By the time the last refugee entered the building, Raleigh collapsed to the ground. Panicked breaths shuddered through him. His father tried his hand at comfort – a mantra of repetitive, meaningless reassurances that everything would be alright. Raleigh could only nod wistlessly - what else?

His mother kissed his forehead kindly, and went inside the building.

The boy glanced back at the rooftops one last time before going into the building.

The Courier fell to his ass and sighed as well. His eyes were growing heavy, and his armor somehow heavier.

A shame that so much was on his mind, it'd take hours before he'd fall asleep. He knew already.

Goddammit.

His right hand snaked up to his neck, and pushed, and a hiss whispered from as the insulation parted open.

Another sigh, wind-quiet and filled with relief, escaped him softly, as he lifted the helmet, and the skin of his face finally breathed.

It felt like it had been forever.

_It always does,_ he laments, but he enjoys it this luxury while he can anyway.

He turns the helmet in his hands, stares into its black eyes. The sky is too dark for a reflection to show, but he sees his own eyes, shining dark.

The Courier repeats the thought in his head, and stifles a chuckle. How accidentally romantic.

He pushed wild, filthy hair out of his face, puts the helmet on the ground, and flicks open a pouch at the back of his waist.

The wrinkly, plastic bag he pulls out is thick. He pushed the button on the metal square it is attached to, and it quickly sucks in the air. The wrinkles smooth out as the bag fills up, and up, and up, until finally it becomes a pillow, and the sucking stops.

He puts the pillow down, lays his head on it, and closes his eyes. His chest begins to heave more slowly.

He wished he had been wrong to assume he wouldn't fall quickly asleep, but he wasn't. Instead, after an hour of failing to fall asleep, footsteps started him to sit.

They came from below.

He quickly put on his helmet again before peering down to find Raleigh awake, holding two steaming bowls.

The boy was looking up at the sky.

"I!–" he starts loudly, but hesitates. "I…" he tries, more quietly, but stops just the same.

The Courier wondered what the hell he's doing until he realized the boy was concerned being overheard.

Raleigh opens his mouth again, doesn't hear the fluttering of a falling trench-coat, the silent thuds of falling feet.

"_**What are you doing?**_"

He gasps spinning around, then hisses in pain as warm stew burns his thumb.

The pain is fleeting as he sees the tall, armored man in front of him. "Wh-what's up?" he says, smiling hesitantly.

The Courier stared wordlessly.

"You were following us."

"_**I was.**_"

"Thanks," he was told shyly.

The Courier bowed his head in response, which surprised the boy.

"Who are you?"

"**_C_**_**ourier.**_"

"Oh… okay. So, you were a mailman?"

He nodded.

Raleigh clearly didn't believe him, but nonetheless said, "Well… thank you, Courier!"

He nodded.

"Right!" Starting as if just remembering something, Raleigh suddenly held out a bowl, "I wasn't sure if you ate or not, but I brought you some food."

He took the bowl eagerly, and thanked him earnestly, "_**Gratitude, Raleigh.**_"

Raleigh smiled. "Don't mention it. You wanna eat alone, or…?"

"_**Alone. But I'm not starving, we can talk.**_"

Going by the look on his face, it was as if he wanted nothing more. "Sure!" The boy sat himself by the building's threshold.

The Courier stood holding his steaming bowl.

"Why did you save us?" He began to shovel stew and slurp it off the spoon.

"_**A question I always thought was odd to ask, yet the most common one I'm asked.**_"

"Sorry–"

"_**They say that too, but it never matters. Simply want to know why.**_"

"I guess… I'm wondering if you did what you did to save us, or for your own gain. You asked us questions after you killed them, and I'm not sure if that's why or not."

He stared at the boy. "_**Somehow doubt you're the only source of information.**_"

The teenager chuckled, easing. "Yeah… Fair enough." He looked as if he wanted to ask something else, but wouldn't.

"_**Ask.**_"

He lowered the bowl, to just above his lap. "I'm scared. For my mom and dad. And everyone else. People are getting sick, and mercenaries are shooting people. Humans and anyone sheltering them. Are you gonna keep following us? Protect us?"

"_**No.**_"

He looked terrified. "Why not?"

"**_You're out of _**_**the Blue Suns' way, but there are still… people left. Two groups missing is more than enough cause to return. Those large complexes I saw? They're residential, aren't they?**_"

He nodded.

"_**That makes them a target, and I have to keep an eye on them.**_"

He scowled suddenly. "Goddamn assholes. Can you believe they're blaming everything on humans?"

"_**Yes.**_" That surprised Raleigh. "_**Ever opened a history book and read it? Nothing about this should surprise you. People always need someone to blame.**_"

Though he didn't show it, the Courier dismayed deep inside that not even aliens were above such selfishness and hatred.

Seems the idiocy and irresponsibility he'd so long branded as "human" wasn't so exclusive after all.

"But… I didn't spread the disease," Raleigh argued naively. "I don't think. Not on purpose, anyway."

"_**Believe you. But that doesn't matter.**_"

"I don't…" Raleigh sighed. "This is Omega. As much of a shithole it is, everyone was free. Free to live, or free to die, but it was always equal. Why is Aria allowing this?"

He took note of the name, but didn't answer. How could he?

"_**Need samples if this is going to go anywhere. Might visit the amphibian medic from before.**_"

"Samples?" There was a long pause where the boy's spoon laid on the edge of the bowl. "What for?"

"_**Cure or vaccine.**_"

"What?… Wait, no way you're a scientist, right?"

"_**Left the white coat and intelligent glasses in my other trench-coat,**_ _**if you can believe it,**_" he deadpanned.

"Nuh-uh," he said, shaking his head. "No way, I can't."

_Yeah-uh,_ the Courier considered quipping in retort, but didn't. "_**You'd be right to not believe it. Never had a white coat, or a need for glasses. But, I **_**have**_** dabbled in the sciences. I had amazing teachers, if… bizarre. Six of them, to be specific.**_"

"Are you serious? Please tell me you're a billionaire!"

That took the Courier aback with the suddenness of it.

"_**Only millionaire so far.**_" Rebuilding and reinforcing the Mojave costs a lot, it turned out. Economics was a fucking pain.

"_Seriously!?_"

"_**Yes.**_"

Raleigh looked like he couldn't believe it, but still he did, and his hands flailed about excitedly before the splashing stew put a stop to it.

"Dude," he continued after recovering from the burn, "You're like Bruce Wayne! Rich, smart, dressed in black and jumping down from rooftops! You're Batman!– I mean, except he didn't kill people – well, except in the first few comics when he went around carrying a gun and shot bad guys–"

_Ah, he's talking about comics._

Interrupting the boy's knowledgeable rant, he interjected, "_**Not in the habit of jumping down from rooftops. Just needed a good view. Not from this place, you see.**_"

"You don't have an omni-tool? It should have a map, unless you got a bootleg one from Dari. That guy's an asshole."

"_**I'll take your word for it.**_" He held up his Pip-Boy. "_**This has a map, but it's better to acquaint with your environment. Bad guys won't stop shooting just because you need to find your bearings.**_"

"In video games they do," he commented uselessly. "But I get what you're saying."

The Courier's stomach rumbled quiet under his armor. "_**No more time for talk,**_" he said, "_**Return to your mother. Not safe here, even absent of mercenaries.**_"

All he heard was a gasp of surprise as his cloaking overtook him. Without a final glance back he meticulously climbed up the building one-handed.

By the time he stood on the rooftop and looked back down, the boy was gone.

The Courier took off his helmet again, set it down, and ravenously devoured the stew.

His mouth was burned and his tastebuds scalded by the time he was finished, so the stew was tasteless, but it filled him up well enough.

He didn't recognize the texture or look of the meat chunks inside, but he suspected little could be viler than bloatfly, and he'd already passed that point in his life, so he wasn't worried.

Slurping up the last of the bowl's contents, the Courier let out a long, thick sigh, and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove.

He spared a final minute to the map on his Pip-Boy, mentally marking out escape routes for the refugees, ambush routes the Blue Suns could come from, and the best counter-strike points from the rooftops he could use around this block.

Lying down on the ground, he shifted from his side onto his back, laid staring into the skyless above.

The tiredness came, and he let it take him. His eyes became suddenly heavy. It felt good, to finally be this tired.

He could already imagine the bliss of a good sleep.

* * *

Shepard dreamed again.

It wasn't about the armored stranger again, nor was it as vivid, but she still remembered it.

That was unusual enough, even if it felt like a dream.

She dreamt about a young girl clad in rough leather and messy hair. She didn't recognize her, but Shepard followed when the girl led her by her hand through a burning building that reminded Shepard of Elysium. It got hotter as she ascended, until her soles burned and her hair caught on fire. She remembered the girl making a joke about her being a true fire-hair now.

Finally, they arrived on a rooftop, and in its midst, inside of a circle of dancing flames, was a lion plushie that made her feet stop, her breath hitch.

"Save my friend," the girl pleaded, pointing at it.

She was already on fire, and the pain made her so delirious she barely registered jumping through the burning circle and out of it with the lion plushie in hand.

It turned out ruined, chars all along it, and a torn face, but the girl was thankful nonetheless. Yet she didn't take the toy back when Jane held it toward her.

She simply pointed to the ground down below. Suddenly, her innocent countenance was marred with fear, as the flames melted and blistered her face. "The huts!" she said, as her flesh sloughed off, "They're burning!"

Shepard woke up with a scream, quickly slamming a palm over her mouth. Gasping through it, until she realized she had stopped, and let go to breathe again.

Chakwas did _not_ need to know about this.

With a sigh, Shepard got up, washed her face, fixed her hair, and suppressed the memory along with any emotion it brought.

The CIC found Commander Shepard no different than days ago, bar her arm.

It was three days after the stranger's escape that Shepard finally left the Normandy, and Jacob and Miranda was with her. But even then it was too soon.

The only reason was that they even field-ready was because they had been given shots by Chakwas to boost reaction, tranquilize pain, and decrease risk of shock from further injury. The Cerberus-manufactured substance was only one step above experimental (prototypical), and the operatives would apparently find themselves too exhausted to sit up for around fifteen hours the day after the effects wore off, so considering that the two already looked disheveled like junkies as it was, she didn't have the entire day.

There was one thing that left everyone confused, however. The one person whose left arm was broken in four different places and who was treated last of everyone, at her own insistence, had healed first.

After Shepard's bones were set, her bones were stronger than they should have been by now, and the splits in her skin where they had stuck out from were already starting to scar over pink, the stitches dissolving the morning after she had them..

Karin had been as shocked as she was.

To not chance recoil breaking her arm again in the middle of a firefight, she left behind the shotgun. She would have stayed and healed longer, but EDI made it clear that if the salarian doctor was to survive, she didn't.

Shit was going down by the clinic.

Blue Sun was going after him, and that meant the _two_ currently active Blue Sun factions.

When Shepard approached Aria, the Omega fat-cat promised her creds for taking out the "rogue elements."

"Dissent in the ranks?" Shepard had asked.

"Not my ranks," Aria had answered. "Blue Suns are organized, and their leaders dying at Archangel's hands left a power-vacuum for about thirty seconds. Somehow, that was all this one asshole needed. Now we've got a small group of rebel mercs with a mystery benefactor wanting humans dead, and they've killed one of _my_ men and several of the main Blue Sun forces who were simply containing the infection to do it."

"Containing the infection? The Blue Suns were killing humans before?"

"Yes. They are the ones going after Mordin and his clinic. They used to carry out executions against humans as well, just not on this scale, and it was strictly a means of containing the disease. Draw out the ones responsible for the disease, if they gave a shit. The disease doesn't infect your kind, see, so the Blue Suns had taken to blaming you for it. Thinking humans were conspiring to take the aliens in the slums out."

Because that kind of thinking always goes well.

"How are they different from these guys that split off?" Shepard asked. "Sounds to me like they're all murdering assholes; mercs with mean streaks."

"Not exactly. The splinter-faction seems to have been hired to exclusively carry out the massacre of humans. They don't extort, took over no rackets, nothing. They just gun humans down on the spot."

"_Jesus Christ,_" she whispered. "Aren't Blue Suns composed of humans, too?"

"Benefactor had the brains to not try and hire any. As I said, to the official Blue Suns, it was just business, a means of containing the disease. Mercs would understand, human or not. I'd go so far as to say this benefactor is probably an anti-human fanatic who found an excuse in the form of the plague."

Shepard shook her head at her situation.

This sounds exactly like the kind of shit Cerberus would be responsible for. Manufacture some disease to rile people up against humans, then use the situation to make her think the galaxy was out to marginalize mankind.

People in power did whatever was needed to be done to get more powerful. She'd learned that lesson long before she learned any in the military. They'd even manipulate their way to an asset.

And getting Commander Shepard, hero of humanity, now _returned from the dead_, on Cerberus' side? A pro-human terrorist organization?

Like she was that fucking gullible, some naïve, starry-eyed hero who never had a run-in with politics.

No, Shepard knew who she had her money on.

"What about the salarian?" Shepard asked, intent on getting to be bottom of this. "Didn't you say he scared the mercs away? Or is it the splinter-faction going after him?"

"No, it's the main Blue Sun faction. They're just not as scared anymore, now that they think they can get him. So don't hesitate to shoot if you see a human Blue Sun on your way to Mordin."

So even if her theory that the Blue Sun breakaways were a product of Cerberus interference were true, they weren't engineering anything with her meeting the salarian.

There was a look of utter confusion on the asari's face.

"You look constipated," she deadpanned.

Aria's eyes flicked over to Shepard in a dangerous glare. "Mentally."

Then her eyes were thoughtful.

"I don't get it. Even my advisors are at a loss, and I pay them to think. It's as if this splinter-faction is just making noise at any cost. If it wasn't for targeting humans in particular, I'd have thought they were paid to kill indiscriminately to bring attention to themselves and distract the official Blue Sun brass."

"Why?" Shepard asked. Maybe an outside perspective was what she needed.

"So whoever hired them could make a power-play against me. But this is cruelty with a different purpose. Maybe the executions the Blue Suns were doing gave these sick fucks a taste for it, enough that they were willing to stab their former, _very_ dangerous employers in the back. And our mysterious friend, who happens to already have an anti-human agenda, took advantage of it." She sighed. "I should just be relieved the death-rates are lower than expected. Seems Mordin's been keeping busy, trying to cure a plague and holding off a siege at the same time."

"That so?"

"That's so. The homeless might have a habit of falling off the face of Omega, but not entire Blue Sun strike teams, splinter or otherwise. Yet that's exactly what's been happening the past few days."

Shepard grinned.

Aria could tell why. "You seem considerably more eager to meet him."

She shrugged. "Won't lie and say I'm not." Shepard turned around and walked down the steps of the VIP room.

Lawson and Taylor fell in behind.

"I'll be back for the creds when I'm done."

She didn't see the smile on Aria's face behind her. "I'll be waiting, Spectre."

The asari's men guarded the district's entrance. There stood five to replace the one dead guard, and four more on the rooftops overlooking the door.

Shepard was let through without issue.

The same could not be said for what came after.

Throughout their surprisingly resistant path, Shepard and her squad had already come across plague victims, and humans killed in revenge. But the Blue Suns were too well-organized to allow them any somberness.

The only time they could pay mind to it was during a brief moment of reprieve. An empty street with a single, spiteful batarian, accusing her and all of humankind for the plague.

He was sat on the filthy ground, coughing blood. Taking pity, she administered some emergency medications to help slow down the symptoms.

Pleasingly, the surprised batarian changed his attitude, and finally Shepard got some answers as to the pogrom against humans by the mercs.

The plague was a biological weapon, or at least manufactured. That was why humans were the only ones not affected.

No wonder the suspicion was cast on them.

Shepard observed her two subordinates, and if they were involved in this they certainly didn't seem guilt-ridden because of it. Their disgust and pity were genuine.

"Bloody hell," Lawson exclaimed once they were near the clinic. "Something's got on their nerves. Never seen mercs go so hard for just one clinic alone."

"Me neither," Shepard muttered absently, eyes passing over the dead blue mercs. "Whoever this salarian doctor is, he's put up resistance fierce enough to match Garrus." She opened her omni-tool. "Lucky us, looks like we're about to find out how fierce he is ourselves soon."

Indeed, one block over and they found him.

That is, they found him mumbling quietly under his breath as he stood overlooking an unconscious patient. A colleague sat at a terminal in the far end of the room.

"Professor Mordin Solus?"

The salarian perked up, looked at her. He activated his omni-tool and scanned her. "Hmm. Don't recognize you from area. Too well-armed to be refugees. No mercenary uniform. Quarantine still in effect. Here for something else. Vorcha? Crew to clean them out? Unlikely, Vorcha a symptom, not a cause." He began walking back and forth, occasionally glancing at them. "The plague? Investigating possible use as bio-weapon? No. Too many guns, not enough data equipment. Soldiers, not scientists." The doctor kept on rambling out speculations instead of asking them, and soon white noise filled Shepard's ears.

"Hey. Hey! _HEY!_"

Mordin halted in his tracks.

"Relax, professor," she placated firmly. "Deep breath, still nerves. Sort out your thoughts, come on."

She put a hand to her chest. "I'm Commander Jane Shepard, and I came here to find you. I need your help on a critical mission. Your skillset will be a valuable asset, I don't doubt."

"Asset? For a mission? No, no, no. Plague still rampant, mercenaries still present and aggressive, clinic understaffed, security almost non-existent – after last fight. Who sent you?"

"Cerberus," she said candidly, casually.

Mordin stopped in his tracks again, and sniffed. "Unexpected."

"Trust me, pal, it's the least surprising thing that's happened recently."

The salarian nodded amicably. "What does Cerberus want?"

She gave a quick exposition about the Collectors, and their kidnappings of entire human colonies.

The salarian seemed more than agreeable enough, but there were two hiccups that remained and couldn't be ignored.

One, the cure was already synthesized, and just needed a vector that would distribute it throughout the slums.

Two, the Blue Sun splinter group had just sent in more mercs.

Mordin muttered, "Hoping Bruce Wayne shows up again. Might need his help."

She wasn't sure she heard right. "Bruce Wayne?"

"Unknown factor," he began to explain. "Local boy, human, came up with name, from old comic-book hero. Twentieth century, human years. Only the boy and his parents saw Bruce Wayne, saved them from two Blue Sun strike teams. Anti-human ones, I suspect. Been disappearing many more after the first two. Until invasion force came in, that is. Quiet so far, but siege just started. Been helpful, hopefully, will be, again. Would've suspected Archangel, but, know better. Raleigh, the boy, said he was a courier, human. Archangel was turian with military background."

Courier?

A fucking mailman was the one disappearing all the Blue Suns off the face of Omega?

Shit. Had to be some mailman.

"Suspect a copycat," continued Mordin, "or an inspired citizen." His thoughts quickly strayed, but Shepard was too interested to interrupt. "Still… Siege was possibility, yes, but – vigilante sped it up, if not caused it. Mercs don't accept losses with impunity after all. Not in Omega. Reputation to protect! No creds if there's no respect! Merc bravado!" He paused in thought. "Should have destroyed valuable assets to make them back off. Lives expendable resource for Blue Suns, materiel more valuable." He sniffed deeply again. "But, doesn't matter, you're here, you can help. If lucky, he'll take care of our second problem while you're taking care of the first–"

A loud siren sounded throughout the building, and every fan in the room died, their spinning slowing like a stilling heart. An alarm began to blare, the room turning an angry red.

"What the hell was that?" Jacob finally spoke up after the _long_ silence since she berated him. And choked him. (She still felt like shit about that. She should apologize.)

"Vorcha and main Blue Suns have shut down environmental systems," Mordin said. Dark thoughts filled Shepard's head. "Trying to–"

"They're trying to fucking suffocate everyone, that's what!" she scowled. "Nefarious pieces of _shit!_"

She spun on her feet, and strode out.

"Taylor, Lawson, we're getting those systems back on!"

"Wait!"

She stopped immediately, then took a deep breath.

Her temper was getting worse lately and she didn't doubt that son of a bitch she found floating in space was the reason.

But it was this salarian that stopped her. He gave her the feeling he didn't often raise his voice.

When she looked back toward him she saw grimness in his amphibian aspect.

"Second problem just became as urgent. Blue Suns, the rogues… they're attacking."

Her hand immediately went to her rifle. "Here?" They'd have to fight off the bulk of _both_ factions!?

He shook his head, and she didn't understand, though she calmed. But if she knew what knowledge would follow, she would not have.

"The residential area."

"Why?" she asked.

He answers, and she wishes he hadn't. "Pogrom."

Her heart stops in her chest. Those big complexes house over a hundred and fifty each!

Oh no…

She was there again. The distant screams echoed through the ashen streets like howls of agonized phantoms through Dionysus Square. Shepard was terrified of looking up, and seeing batarian ships like falling stars landing on her home, bearing shackles.

But then, she was in Omega again, awake just in time to hear Miranda point out what Shepard feared.

"We can't get to both, not in time, not if both the Blue Suns factions are attacking now."

"If we don't turn on the environmentals, everyone dies," Jacob said. "It's the only choice."

Their disheveled looks did little to help Shepard's nerves.

"Need to make a decision now," Mordin urged them. "Highly recommend environmental systems."

She knew that was the right choice, the lesser evil. Sacrifice the many for the few, instead of sacrificing everyone so she could save herself guilt and say she didn't leave innocent people to be massacred.

But she never was one for shit choices, not until that choice stuck the dagger of certainty in her heart, that there was no other way.

Until that happened, and her heart was carved into bloody pieces, those choices could go fuck themselves.

Shepard turned to her squad. "Miranda, Jacob, you go turn on the systems. Kill any and all Blue Sun and vorcha in your way. Remember, this is the main group, so don't hesitate to shoot any human Blue Suns among them."

Jacob protested, "Shepard, you can't expect to take on an entire merc force alone! How many could there be? Fifty? A hundred?"

"Probably a hundred," she said, aware of how grimly casual she was. She had to keep from chuckling. "There's a lot of people in those buildings."

Jacob stepped forward. "Commander, I get–"

"The risks, and so do I – _I'm not an idiot, for god's sake!_" she yelled suddenly. "Or maybe I am, I don't know. But I know war. I know fighting. I know the odds. So that's what I'm going to work with, not survival instinct. You're going, that's an order." She looked to Mordin. "Give them everything you can spare: weapons, assets."

"Of course," he nodded. "Can give you something too, increase odds in your favor." She followed him as he walked over to his colleague – human, she sees now – seated by the terminal in the far end of the room.

Up close, the man's features were obvious to her, bug-eyed, averting gaze, like he was unused to looking people in the eye. Twitchy.

"Alderson hacked into Blue Sun comms, opened back-door for future access. He was the one who heard about the attack."

"Good work, kid," she said, patting his shoulder.

He flinched, looked uncomfortable, so she made a note not to do it again.

The screen showed what was obviously live footage from a helmet. Its wearer spoke with batarian baritone. Alderson pressed the right arrow on the keyboard, and it changed to a turian's view. Then a human, then another turian.

They had audio, but there was nothing useful. Just banter between crass mercs, what strip club to go to on leave, what firing positions was the best when committing a massacre. You know, the usual.

"This is – ah, fucking amazing," she muttered in spite of herself, wide-eyed. "You've no idea just how much you increased my chances of survival, Alderson."

Alderson didn't look up from the screen, but she saw the corner of his lip twitch upward.

"Also," Mordin began, "have something, that, should keep your mind off your soldiers." She followed him out of the clinic.

Mordin took her to a storage unit in the next building.

When the gate groaned open, Shepard had to whistle to hide a smile brimming with relief. "Where'd you get your hands on an YMIR?"

"Only trace left of a Blue Sun strike force. Had to replace some parts."

"Gift from your friendly neighborhood mailman?"

"Not sure, EMP was used, fried certain components. Reason for replacement." He met her eyes. "Just wanted you to know, they will be alright."

Her smile fell. "They're soldiers, they should already be able to take care of themselves," she said.

"Of course," Mordin nodded. "But you're concerned regardless. Could tell instantly. You care about them. Remind me of my former CO, actually. Always admired the trait and people who had it, because of how practical it makes one _despite_ the emotional aspect."

She remained quiet. Didn't like how observant he was. Not in this. It made her feel too exposed.

"Anyway," he said, "I'll be in the clinic, provide support, give you live info on their movement and orders."

Shepard nodded. This salarian was getting a hell of a bonus pay when they got back on the Normandy.

But until then, she had to make sure everyone in this district was still breathing at the end of this.

* * *

He sat among the tall green, hugging his knees to his chest.

He was hiding.

The green was rare in this land, but home had always had good earth. Earth that was strong and grew strong crops and smelled good.

It was a long time since he had been here, outside of dreams and nightmares. Even now, he knew better, that either one was to come.

He still hadn't come back here since the day it happened.

He was weak then, but he had a home that was peaceful and good.

"You _became_ strong," she said, sitting beside him. "In the end, you did, Courier."

His composure faltered. He felt unnerved for some reason.

He tried to think on why.

Courier…

That name felt wrong coming out of her mouth. It wasn't his name.

The little girl with red hair and a pug nose and a face that always looked angry even when she wasn't, and the Courier wreathed in myth and soaked in blood and ash, were two different worlds. Two lives.

One worthy, the other cruel.

Hearing her speak the name the Mojave gave him… it was tainting his first life with the second. An insult. Heresy.

Fucking sacrilege.

"I won't call you that again," she apologized.

He wasn't angry at her. But at life, the world. What it did to simple names, disgraceful.

"I haven't thought about you for a long time," he said, after a long silence. His voice was a child's again.

"You have, you just do not _dream_ of me. You only dream about your mother. And that day."

It was true. She might occupy his mind sometimes in his waking hours, but if she was here in a dream… this could only be a nightmare. He wouldn't dream of any other person than his mother.

Soon, he would hear the screams, see torch-bearing legionaries marching ravaging through his home, petrify at the sight of the flames billowing in spirals.

Maybe… not this time.

This time was different. Because he knew it was coming. The lucidity of this occasion seemed to take away from the horror.

He hoped so at least.

Remained to be seen.

With a deep, brimstone breath, the boy lay back on the ground. Calm. Stared up into the stars that burned bright in the darkness above. No four eyes opened in them.

The little girl lied down next to him, and he felt... was supposed to feel content when she did.

Contentment... Hadn't felt that in a long time.

When he turned to look at her, she was pointing a finger at him, and poked his head with it. "It's not the horror up here you need to worry about, _atsaai_."

She looked up, and pointed somewhere awfully specific among the stars. "It's the one up there. Remember? Look, right where you are. Omega."

Omega… he had heard that before.

"You'll hear many more. There are many names up there," she tells him what he already knows, "for many stars and many worlds."

He felt heat bloom slowly, then surge up against him, blanketing him in uncomfortable warmth.

It was happening. Soon the screams would come.

He didn't feel the fear yet, so maybe it would be different this time.

"Will you come back home?" she asked.

He wasn't sure which home she meant.

Arizona or New Vegas?

Then he realized it didn't matter.

"Always."

She smiled, and his heart hurt. He wishes he was wise enough to have appreciated it when he could. "Look at the fire. Wake up."

He didn't look at the fire, but awaited it to consume him all the same.

That's how the nightmare always ended. Immolation.

And he would wake up in a sweat that was cold, as if to mock him, torture him in a shifting hell.

But… these screams were wrong.

"What is that sound?" he asked her. It was something demonic, eldritch, and corrupted.

Human, but more.

"The horror you need to worry about. Remember?"

"No… I don't…"

He looked away from the stars down to the fire beside him, but he didn't see melting huts or marauding legionaries.

He saw instead a building, through the windows of which billowed smoke and ran frantic silhouettes, and the screams of humans made demonic paired with shrieking and panicked howling of creatures he didn't recognize. Sounds of weapons firing could be heard peppering through the sound of the roaring conflagration.

And beside the building, right by his face, a helmet lay with black eyes staring at him.

...This isn't a fucking dream!

The Courier launched upright with a gasp. His gasping, heaving chest, slowed quickly, and he stared at his helmet.

It wasn't screaming, no.

The screams came beyond it.

He looked up, and his eyes widened.

The apartment complex, the big one in the middle of the district was burning, and people were stuck inside. The humans, the turians… everyone.

_They're dying_, he realized.

It was not fear that came over him.

A furious scowl contorted his face, as he grabbed the helmet, pulled it down on his head, and with the medicine stick in hand and eyes glowing red, he stepped back a few, before running as fast as he could, and leapt off the edge of the building.

A burning hell raged in Omega that night, and a tall, black figure was seen running across the sky straight for it.

* * *

"Shepard, you need to hurry," Mordin said inside her helmet's ear. "They have closed in and set fire to the side-exits."

"_Jesus._" They're gonna burn the residents alive if they don't gun them down.

The knowledge made her run like a wolf.

"I'm getting close," she said, before her feet halted. She slid a few feet around the corner, too-late seeing the blips on her motion tracker.

She saw the rifles aim toward her, and ducked. Shots struck where her head was a second ago.

"It's Shepard!" she heard one exclaim, a turian. "Hold your fire!"

Her hand went to her grenade – then froze at the small of her back.

_What did he say?_

"Shepard!?" the turian called out. "We're with Aria. We just got orders to stop the attack and turn on the environmental systems."

She saw the faint, blurry shimmers – blips – of slowly approaching footsteps.

When the one on point got close enough, she pounced – jumped out from behind her cover, omni-blade unfurling against the batarian soldier's spine as she simultaneously wrapped an arm around his throat.

"Easy!" the turian exclaimed firmly, calmly, "We're on the same side!"

"Prove it! Now!"

"Let her go, spectre," another batarian growled.

She recognized him, and her frame relaxed before she pushed the soldier off. "I recognize you. You're the dipshit with the penchant for throwing people out the airlock."

She didn't spare him another second, turning to the turian even as the batarian responded, "Only threatening to. People are rarely dumb enough to try me."

"No time, we need to go!" the turian said, and ran off toward the apartments.

She made sure to stay behind them all. "How did you find out about the attack?"

"Idiots are still using the Blue Suns network even after they splintered off. Bulk of the IT stayed, wasn't hard to tap into their comms. Whoever hired them didn't think of everything. Come to think of it, how did you find out?"

"Doesn't matter." she pressed against her helmet, said, "Mordin, can you transmit live audio to my omni-tool?"

"Can do better, send live footage as well."

She could kiss the frog, but she had no use for a prince. "Good shit, Mordin!" Her voice was panting, her lungs burning. "Give my thanks to Alderson."

As soon as her omni-tool made a noise signaling received data, the salarian said, "Done, on both ends. Alderson says you're welcome. Good luck, Shepard. Will be watching."

She set her focus ahead, and rushed past Aria's soldiers.

"Hey, wait up!" the turian called.

She didn't register the words, even as she heard them, for she was captivated by the orange glow from around the corner ahead – not the flickering, static buzz of neon signs, but the dancing, ebb-and-flow glow of fire.

When she got close, distant screams came, as wild as the roaring flame, and as indescernible. She couldn't make out what they were screaming, and she didn't want to.

Shepard ran for the building entrance, dropped the two Suns guarding it with a headshot each, and tapped her omni-tool. Footage appeared in the corner of her HUD.

The mercs were already inside the building.

She was greeted with a charred set of stairs, and rushed up it. In the hallway at its top, she froze at the sight of the carnage.

She wondered with terror and uncertainty whether this was real, or another episode of a bad memory.

Jane shook herself of her fear, as she had been taught to, and passed by bloodied corpses on the ground, feet shakily avoiding them.

Some had holes in their backs, having tried to run away, while the ones hunched pleadingly over on their knees had holes in their centers of mass.

Tearing her wide gaze away, Shepard persevered, but with the ghosts of the dead at her back. Whispering.

She turned the footage's audio on, to overhear information she told herself, but the whispers were thusly replaced with panicked screams from the Blue Sun's perspective.

She forced herself to suffer them.

It was a hardship that was rewarded: when she got to the second-to-last floor – the Suns relayed that the survivors were running up to the roof.

Apparently the building had contingencies in the design – special vents opened by sensors – that protected it against rising smoke.

Ice flooded her veins, stabbed at her heart.

That meant it was either getting gunned down or burned alive for these people! There was no other way out!

_Fucking Christ!_

Shepard felt sickness rise in her throat, but forced the bile down.

Of all the things, it had to be this. Her worst nightmare re-enacted.

She turned off the footage – she knew she would overhear nothing else useful. That rooftop was either do-or-die, as much for her sanity as for the survivors.

There was nothing left but to do. So her feet quickened, in spite of her fears and horrors, all the pain they brought her.

She kept going, past all of it, because she never knew how to do anything else.

* * *

Mordin watched the screens stoically. Though his heart was calm, it was only because he forced it to be.

The screens currently showed as the Blue Suns trapping a group of residents in a hallway.

"The exit's barred!" a civilian in the back screamed.

The people began to begging for their lives and their loved ones'.

The only response of the mercenaries were rifle-barrels rising to chest-level.

Alderson nearly leapt out of his seat, trembling voice dripping with more than anxiety, "I can't fucking watch this."

Mordin could, unfortunately. Had to.

The squad leader bellowed "Fire!"

That is what filled the screen, fire from the muzzle flashes.

Somehow, the screams were louder over the sound of gunfire, no longer a distant thing, no longer an abstract horror, but manifest and right in front of Mordin.

He saw old, adult, even a handful of children and teenagers fall!

"Savages," he hissed, "Degenerates." His hands clenching at his sides.

Trembled with rage, a rage he didn't want to control, but wanted instead to harness, bring to the mercenaries and whoever set them on this depraved task.

Watched the survivors trying to scurry into the rooms beside them, saw mothers, fathers throw their loved ones through before they were shot down themselves, listened to screams–

–when burst of sound scrambled the speakers and violent flash of light glitched the screens.

"What happened?" Mordin asked.

Alderson stared wide at the ground, covering ears. Unresponsive.

Already ridden with clinical anxiety, this definitely didn't help.

No use now.

That's okay. Earned this reprieve for hard work either way, so Mordin approached monitor himself.

"Equipment malfunction?" he asked, then hummed, as he tapped the keyboard.

Soon, discovered there was no malfunction or aberration on their end, but rather on the Blue Suns'.

Mordin dreaded the reason.

Had they bombed the civilians?

If they did, they would have had to bomb their own as well. Too close in proximity.

_Perhaps Commander Shepard arrived!_ he hoped. Would be considerably better news.

When the squad leader's helmet-footage stopped glitching and showed a now more pixelated, damaged footage, his camera bobbed back and forth as he coughed.

He had been knocked over on the ground by the explosion.

"What the fuck happened?" he groaned out harshly.

Squad leader turned his head around, saw a fellow Blue Sun scramble backward into another one's legs. Both were stunned to silence.

"What's your malfunction, assholes!?"

Didn't answer. Just stared, frozen at whatever they were looking at.

Camera shifted as the leader turned his head down the other end of the hallway.

Cloud of particles swayed, rose, fell amongst the small fires along the floor.

Mordin's eyes squinted, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Just when he expected to see and learn no more than the mercenaries – his eyes widened, imperceptibly, at the text, faint in the dark. Only thanks to his salarian eyes could he make it out.

_**FORECAST: **_

_**RAPIDLY CHANGING **_

_**CONDITIONS**_

A silhouette rose like undead from the ground, until it towered over everyone, with a presence that made it more noticeable than the flames that surrounded it.

Amidst the falling ash and crumbling dust, two red eyes, like mists of blood, opened, and they were aglow with rancor.

"It's him!" the leader yelled, "Take him out!" and Mordin released a breath he didn't realize he held.

When the ash had settled, the shadowy creature was revealed to be nothing more than a tall human in black armor, and the Blue Suns approached with bloodthirsty eagerness as much as professionalism.

A batarian was the first to approach, omni-blade unfurled and glowing.

He thrust.

Blade stopped an inch from its eye as his wrist was grabbed by the fearless figure. It yanked the batarian toward itself and its other fist launched forth.

Splinters burst from the face of the Sun's helmet, his head flinging back so hard that when his corpse fell to the ground the head stayed bent backwards at an angle as gruesome as unnatural.

Another batarian swung a fist easily dodged by the figure. The figure swung back.

The Sun's form simply flinched from an impact that couldn't be seen from behind, then fell to the ground, revealing its clenched fist waist-level, and outstretched.

It had punched him so hard that even in armor it dropped him.

Impact looked bad. Fist-shaped dent in abdomen.

Wouldn't discount internal bleeding.

Two approached at the same time then, both turian.

The first to attack tried to kick, legs strong enough to more than debilitate a grown human, but the figure grabbed hold of the leg and swung him around and slammed him against the wall so effortlessly like he was a weightless ragdoll, so hard cracks burst along in a circle around the impact point.

The turian slid down, and hit the floor dead.

While this had happened, Mordin had glanced the second turian take the opportunity and attack. He swung upward with his omni-blade to sever the figure's spine lengthwise – and his arm was grabbed in its ascension, he was pulled close, and another hand grabbed the back of his head beneath the crest before it spun his head into the wall.

Reflexively, like all the basest of salarian instincts activated, Mordin flinched away but for a moment, as the stranger turned its head, glaring with red eyes right into the Blue Sun's soul, before his logic regained him control.

The still image of the armored stranger burying the head of a turian several inches into the wall made him shiver.

"FIRE! FUCKING KILL!-" the red-eyed shadow seemed to shift in the dark – and a gloved fist appeared flying toward the camera. The screen cut to static.

* * *

Her controlled breathing hitched to a halt, dead in her lungs.

Blue Suns at the top of the stairs fired, but theirs were the only screams and shouting, because _something_ was firing back.

She stood frozen at the base, as batarian bellows echoed. Tearing her mind from the now, forcing it years back.

When Elysium was afire, and ships came bearing down from the sky.

Just as then, however, a voice whispered in her head, urging her. She remembered. Just as then, it was too quiet. She remembered.

Until its patience ran thin. "_Up off your knees,_" the voice growled. "_They come bearing shackles. For the sake of this home you've lost, Shepard, seal the breach. Now stand!_" demanded the voice. "_Stand, and FIGHT!_"

Her rifle's muzzle rose to face the Blue Suns, and blinked rapidly, quietly beneath the roar of the fire.

The mercenaries could only gasp and yelp and howl against the ruthless assault behind. As they tumbled down, they were grimly silent.

The woman in N7 armor a mere black blur in their spinning visions.

A batarian landed by her feet. As it groaned, its many eyes found her, pleading, lips bloodstained.

A new hole appeared in its forehead.

When she moved to ascend the stairs, she heard choking behind her, and found two more still alive.

One was crawling away. She shot him three times in the back, then aimed at the turian choking on its blood. Didn't even think of Garrus, and how he had choked, as she put one in each lung.

This time she ascended unobstructed, undistracted.

She saw Blue Sun armors just at the peripheral between the smoke and dust, and fired on every one, and heard thuds of them hitting the floor.

Had she looked down at the corpses that were already here, she would have noticed that every corpse was a Blue Sun. Not one civilian.

But she didn't, because only a fool would take her eyes off the sight in the distance.

The more she neared, the more it looked familiar, until suddenly it looked too much so.

She stopped, aim steadfast and finger ready on the trigger.

It was the symbol on his back; a white-rimmed black spade, emblazoned with a golden '**21**'. She saw it, and knew.

The environmental systems had activated (Taylor and Lawson completed their mission!), and the sprinklers doused the conflagration.

Past the hissing flames, she heard the carving of flesh, and past the blinding steam she saw a glint of metal.

Suddenly, the falcata was yanked out into her view, edge running with red, before his left hand tossed aside the mercenary she couldn't see until now, like an old toy.

Her breath was quiet as a whisper. Shepard took one, careful step–

–and the stranger's red gaze flicked over his shoulder.

He looked straight at her, falcata clenched in his right hand, left reaching for the revolver at his waist.

But he was frozen like that.

And it wasn't the stillness of an animal caught in headlamp. No, he reminded her more of a big cat stilling itself to hide from its prey's gaze. Preparing to leap.

_How the fuck did he hear me? Past all this steam._

Another question arose.

_What the fuck is he doing here?_

"What the fuck are you doing here?" she found herself asking against her will.

"_**Are you with them?**_" he asked. He was so still it looked as if the voice had come from someone else.

But she knew.

That grim baritone, it couldn't have come from anything else, except maybe a hollow crypt.

"No," she said.

"_**Woke up to fire.**_" She was confused at first, then realized he was answering her question.

"You live here?"

"_**Slept on a rooftop, three buildings across.**_"

_On a rooftop?_

There was a silence in the hall, as the residents dared to peek out from their doorways.

The man had never left her mind. But after three days, she hadn't expected to come across him again. Not with the events that happened in the past hour occupying her mind.

She could only wonder what to do now.

"**_You l_**_**ook uncertain. Let me take initiative, save us both some time.**_"

As he said this, slowly but surely his feet turned him around, with motions effortless and graceful.

The how and why of this, considering the size and the aggression of the man, was miles away.

As it stood, she could only acknowledge grimly that there was no getting this man off-balance in hand-to-hand.

If only she realized this before she brawled him the first time, her arm might not have begun to throb in four, large places as the adrenaline began to wear off.

"_**Wake up,**_" he told her, and she shook herself from her thoughts. "_**Focus on a one single thing in a stand-off, and you're dead.**_"

"That a threat or advice?" she grit out, past the pain.

"_**You must have me confused with a man who threatens when he could act.**_"

Asshole's got one-liners too. Fair enough.

"Shoot her!"

The voice yelled out from behind her.

The sound of a hammer clicking made her finger twitch by the trigger.

"Don't," she said, voice so snarky she almost cringed at her flippancy. Presence was key in diplomacy, and she just went from Machiavelli to Prince Joffrey.

Still, he hadn't pulled the Colt out of its reverse holster yet. "_**Why does he want me to shoot you?**_" he asked. "_**Paranoia?**_"

"Yes."

"_**Paranoid man myself. Why are you here?**_"

"I came to the district to find a salarian doctor–"

"_**One in the clinic?**_"

Surprised, she paused.

He knew?

"Yeah. I was there with my squad, but the environmental systems got deactivated. Everyone was in danger of choking."

He hummed thoughtfully. "_**That's why my oxygen activated when I was outside.**_"

"Probably," she agreed, cautiously. "So I sent my operatives to reactivate it. But the salarian got word about this attack. So I sent them away and came here."

"_**Alone?**_"

She nodded.

"_**So who are they?**_"

She frowned, then remembered. But when she turned around, there was no one there.

Shepard realized he had heard them. Aria's men.

"How the fuck can you hear them?" she asked, amazed and angry in equal measure. She knew herself how hard it was to hack into the comms of Omega's mercs. She learned that three days ago.

"_**You lied. You aren't alone.**_"

Her frustration flared. "Look, they're not with me, they're with Aria T'Loak. They came here to stop the Blue Suns just like me, okay? Now will you answer the question? How the fuck are you able to hit so hard you dented the beam of the hull of a goddamn spaceship, state-of-the-art one? How can you hear the footsteps–"

"**Enough!**" he shouted. Even the residents behind him went quiet.

She took a deep breath.

"_**That's the way of it,**_" he said, calmingly, like he heard it."_**Breathe. Now…**_" Finally he emptied leather, the Colt _slowly _leaving its bead-adorned holster.

_Like you need a fucking revolver to take me out,_ she thought bitterly. She felt toyed with.

Just as the thought finished, Aria's men fell in beside her, pointing their weapons toward him.

_Oh._

"_**Listen!**_" he called out. "_**Does anyone know the name of Aria?**_"

The crowd huddled behind his protection murmured.

One answered, "You don't?"

Shepard tried not to snort, masked it with a weak cough.

"_**These are her men.**_"

The turian at her flank stepped forward, lowering his rifle. "We came here to stop the Blue Suns–"

"And what an excellent fucking job you've done," a woman said, glaring at them. "If it wasn't for this man we'd be burning alive!"

"Yeah!" said another. "What the fuck does Aria take us for? She thinks she can come in and cash in on this guy's hard work? What's she been doing up in her VIP Suite? Where the fuck was she when my goddamn girlfriend–" A sob interrupted the man's voice. "When she–" The voice broke down completely.

Excited, a vicious cacophony of blame and grief suddenly came at them like a torrent. The stranger stood wordlessly, Colt still in the air, unmoving in his grip, even as their rifles lowered to the ground, some in shame.

"Goddamn pathetic!"

"Useless! Fucking useless!"

"Why weren't you here to save my husband! I had to leave him as he _bled _to death! He died alone, terrified!"

"They shot my grandmother in her bed! I had to hide under it, I was so scared! This isn't even _my_ blood! Oh god!"

"I almost jumped out of the window because Aria let these assholes go wherever they wanted!"

"Was this worth it!? Is the crime and pain worth the money these mercs bring that blue arrogant bitch!?"

"My sons! They shot them down like rabid varren!"

Shepard tried to harden her heart to the desperation and death that so suddenly, violently set in, but staring at their sooty forms and bleeding aspects… she could only force herself to shut her tears in as their words came raining down. _Don't break,_ she told herself. _Not now. Not here. They still need you, even if they hate you._

The hiss of the falcata sheathing started her eyes open, and she saw him raise his hand slowly, for silence.

The voices died out with their anger. Only uncontrollable cries and sobs still wrenched free, echoing like phantoms.

Looking beside her, Shepard saw shame, guilt, from the soldiers that cared.

"_**No more yelling at each other,**_" said the stranger, voice unexpectedly quiet. "_**Shed your grief in mourning or in hatred, but not against them.**_"

Now, there was total silence, as even the grieving survivors had listened.

"We can take you to Mordin Solus," Aria's turian said. "He can give shelter, medicine, food. Counseling. Aria will send her own people to help out there, too. The Blue Suns are completely out of this district. It's safe now."

"_**What's it saying?**_"

There was a silence in the wake of the stranger's words.

"_**The turian, don't understand it's shrieking,**_" he explained, impatient.

Even the turian was surprised, rather than offended.

Shepard volunteered, and translated, somewhat decently, even as all she could think was _what the hell was with this guy._

The stranger turned to face the crowd. "_**If you want, I can follow you. Until you're safe.**_"

Everyone nodded, but one resident stepped forward in anger, "You sure as shit can't do a worse job than these inept assholes!"

"_**Enough,**_" he said, softly. "_**There's nothing that can be done. Hurting them won't heal you. Everyone's tired. Let's find a bed.**_"

His velvet-smooth words disarmed the man of his attitude completely. The man's furrowed brow softened, lips trembled.

"_**If you lose me, look for the mark,**_" he called out without looking back, pointing a thumb to his back.

The stranger turned around, nodded wordlessly at them. They parted a path between them.

Shepard and Aria's soldiers watched from the sides with as the survivors followed the stranger.

Their eyes were broken, everyone looked like hell.

"Spirits," the turian sighed grimly. "We owe the man."

"Good of you to let him know," Shepard said.

He looked confused as she followed the survivors. By the time she made her way to the front, they had already left the building.

"You took them out all by yourself?" she asked falling in beside him. Her eyes were looking ahead, as was his.

"_**Not quickly enough.**_"

"Thank you." She couldn't give a shit how bizarre this all was, considering everything. What he did, what just happened. But expressing her gratitude, it was the one thing she knew she could do right today.

He didn't answer, just looked at her. He was surprised, she feels.

That was enough for her.

"Aria's going to want to talk to you," the turian's voice said, helmeted.

The stranger's head flicked to the side in uncharacteristic surprise.

"Helmet's got a different kind of translation software," the turian chuckled. "Turns out it can translate my words into other languages, rather than translating other languages so I understand them. Never had to use this option until now, though."

"_**Your voice…**_" He actually seemed affected.

"Yeah, I can imagine human words sound weird coming out of a turian. Still, makes me wonder. You act like you've never seen a turian before. What the hell have you been doing without translation?"

"_**I haven't met a single one of you before. Aliens, that is.**_"

Shepard's eyes widened.

That certainly explained his behavior… if he wasn't faking it. But, now wasn't the time to assume things.

"Seriously?" the turian exclaimed, as stunned as she was. "You lived under a rock or something."

"_**Just the one rock. No aliens on it. Just humans and their consequences.**_"

"What sort of backward planet do you come from? Uh, no offense."

"_**What offense there is to truth is not to apologize for.**_"

"Right…" His archaic speech pattern earned him odd looks from Aria's man. "Anyway, after we bring these people to the salarian, you're going to want to come with us."

"_**Why?**_" he asked, voice unchanged. But a deaf man could hear just how uninterested he was.

The turian chuckled. "Now, I know you're new to Omega, so let me do you a favor. Aria T'Loak is _not_ someone you decline." That was an understatement.

"_**Not good enough,**_" the man said suddenly.

Shepard's eyes widened surprised. _The man doesn't lack for confidence._ After all this shit, she felt a natural smile come to her face.

The turian held up a placating hand to his asari friend who scoffed. "How's that? Sun shines out your ass, or you got actual concerns? 'Cause see, if it's the latter. Well, Aria's going to be real thankful when she hears what you and Shepard did. Why not see what she has to say? It'll give you the opportunity to make your own voice heard."

"_**These people take priority. Their dead will be buried.**_"

"Buried? Buddy, we're in Omega. It's a space-station, you know that, right? No room for graves or sarcophaguses."

"_**Sarcophagi,**_" he corrected, and Shepard snorted at the oddity of all this.

"Whatever. Best thing is a big party to celebrate their lives as you space the coffin, but this ain't exactly a celebratory occasion."

"**Spacing…**" the stranger said lowly, contemplatively. Then he said normally, "_**Just do right by them. The dead as much as the living.**_"

"Of course," said the turian. And Shepard believed him.

Aria's man didn't say anything more.

Shepard looked ahead. "We need to talk," she said lowly.

The silence between them was short, but noticeable.

"_**I know.**_"

His trench-coat slid back to reveal the holstered Colt.

Her fingers clenched around her rifle's grip at the threat – until she saw his hands were at his side, not his waist. Following the backwards-shifting coat with her eyes, she found herself looking behind them, and surprise took hold of her.

A little, human girl, holding the corner of his trench-coat with her hand, staring ahead.

Realizing he didn't notice, she tapped his shoulder. "_Hey…_"

He looked at her, saw her staring back, and followed her eyes. The moment he saw the little girl, he stopped.

"_What's the hold up, up there?_" came a voice from the turian's comms.

"Give me a second." The turian looked at the stranger. "The hell are you doing?"

Shepard knew.

He was seeing the same thing she did.

The girl's eyes were wide, listless. Broken, in a different, essential sort of way. Maybe never to be put whole again.

A black wall passed her by, and Shepard broke away from her stare to see that it was the stranger approaching the girl.

Towering above her, he reached his hand down to her.

For the first time, the girl reacted – didn't look, just reacted – by grabbing hold of his armored little-finger.

He was too tall for her, and she had to stand on her toes to graze his hand, so he ended up crouching down and picking the girl up, too gingerly for someone as big and violent as him.

He kept on going, and the group followed him again.

The girl placed her head against his chest, right on top of the hole where Jacob had sniped him.

Only then did she notice, with wide eyes, the plushie toy she had been holding in the other hand, now hanging from it.

It was a lion plushie, white as ash, and staring right at her. She could only stare back.


	9. Son of the Apocalypse

Around the corner, Miranda and Jacob waited, hostility, fierce and vengeful, on their faces. This animus was directed beside her, to the stranger – though "stranger" had begun to lose its meaning.

It felt like she already knew him in some weird way.

Their vitriol wavered, first into surprise, when they realized he was holding a child and, then into shock, as the survivors turned the corner behind them.

She shot them a meaningful look, and their grips loosened around their weapons.

The two made way for the group, taken aback at the dishevelment, soot, and despair that hung from the survivors like tattered clothes.

The doctors and nurses inside rushed out of the clinic entrance with stretchers, first aid kits, and equipment that looked like they belonged in a clinic on the Citadel rather than here, and promptly got to work.

"Wanna be useful?" She said to Aria's turian, folded her rifle on her back, and walked past him. "Give these people a hand. Lawson, Taylor, help them out."

The Cerberus ops broke out of it, shared a determined glance between them, and followed her order.

People pouring in and out of the clinic, Shepard looked around and saw an old man, silver beard stained, and with sad eyes that made her heart ache with memory. He was shambling, legs quivering.

When she realized they were falling beneath him, she dashed forward. His weight bore down on her, but she managed to quickly steady him on his feet.

"_I got you_," she grunted lightly. Shepard took his right arm and put it atop her shoulders, and carried him toward the clinic. His other hand held his side, which was stained red. He was muttering about someone called 'Arin'. All she could to was hush him with as comforting a tone she could manage with her mind where it was.

Her scars hurt, her insides ticking.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick._

As she neared the flooding doors she saw a human nurse reach out, with clear caution, for the child in the armored stranger's arms.

Surprisingly, when he held the little girl out the girl hugged back against him with a desperation that took the stranger back as well.

_You had to have seen some vicious shit if you had to hold on to someone with a face like that, little girl. I'm so sorry._

"_**Help another**_," he said after a pause, and returned the girl to his snug embrace.

Then, he stepped into the clinic, and Jane lost him in the crowd.

It took a while, but the ford of injured, and the medical staff helping them, died down, and only when _everything_ had settled did Shepard allow herself to take a breather.

And she was impressed to see that only now did Lawson go outside by herself for air, and that Taylor was still helping keep an old woman company. She didn't miss the way he rested her head on his shoulder, the way a dutiful son might.

Shepard didn't wonder whether they'd have done the same if the majority of survivors were humans, no, they earned her respect today.

As she stood looking around, the price of her hesitation surrounded her, she realized. Or was this another thing that was out of her hands? Is this all that's left, should she just wait with burning, empy lungs for the darkness to come again?

Would she ever get a grip again?

Mordin was there suddenly, fell in beside her. "Rapidly changing conditions."

Surprised, she looked at him wide-eyed.

"Saw it on helmet-cam. He's the courier."

Shepard looked to where he was looking, and was surprised to see him in a chair by a table, the little girl in his lap. A pouch on one of his bandoliers was open, and he held a small packet in front of them that glowed green. Both of his arms laid on the table, the girl's head between them.

She was just staring ahead at with blank eyes. Somehow, her hands responded, reached for the packet faintly, some remainder of the person that was once inside.

Then a black hand reached for the lion plushie – _How could she forget it? She had seen it her dreams, not just once, but twice _– and brought it up close to the girl.

He was playing with her, Shepard realized. Or... well, at least keeping the poor thing company. Playfulness was not the word for this scene.

As much as it broke her heart to see a child like that, her mind and eyes wandered inevitably to the plushie.

It wasn't ruined like she had dreamed, it wasn't even the same design. It wasn't even the same girl who had.

But it was a lion, and the tall stranger in black armor was there too. These were the things that haunted her dreams before. The stranger and the Lion.

Something was going on.

Was she some kind of a prophet now? Visions of the future?

...

Is she fucking stupid? Of course she wasn't a prophet. She knew that much, just... not much more.

She hated it. Not knowing. Her head hurt. She had been having too many nightmares lately. She was missing two years, and didn't know how to get them back. She didn't even know how to help people anymore.

So much for the Lazarus Project.

Maybe thanking the stranger really was the one right thing she could do today.

"Shepard?" the salarian's voice broke through, shaking her awake.

Shepard sighed tiredly, and rubbed her eyes. "Aria wants to talk with him," she told Mordin.

"Not surprising. Will probably reward him then try to recruit him. Entice with worm, and get the bird. Isn't that the human saying?"

Somehow, she managed a smile. "Not exactly, but good enough." She turned to face him. "Now, god forgive me for asking you something like this at a time like this, but we need your help, Doctor Mordin."

"You'll have it," he said.

The lack of hesitation took her aback. "Like that?"

"Like that," he nodded.

"With all these people here?" What the hell is she doing? She had this operative in the bag, and yet she refused to shut it.

...No, she was right to ask that question.

These people needed help, and if she was doing this mission, she was doing this right. That meant not robbing the needy of their elite medical expertise.

Why the hell is Mordin leaving all these people?

"Supplies undoubtedly on the way, Aria's concilliatory gift."

That's all it took for her to understand. "And these people will be too desperate to remember that she allowed this whole thing to progress this far in the first place."

"Precisely. Realistically all I am good for is applying first-aid and surgery, but, far more practical choice of candidates to do that present. Population of human colonies far greater than this group, and, expect to do far more good, than first-aid and rudimentary surgeries in helping against the Collectors."

"You sound sure. I appreciate confidence, but not foolhardiness."

Mordin nodded. "Of course. Cerberus spares no expense regarding humanity. Will have what I need."

She crossed her arms, tried to hide how impressed she was by his perceptiveness, but couldn't keep a straight face, and chuckled. Thankfully the salarian smiled too, so she didn't look like too much of a loon.

"Laughter – good for you. Much needed here."

He wasn't wrong. It did her good to smile a bit.

"Come on. Let's get this guy to Aria and then we leave this godforsaken place."

* * *

"_**Easy, little critter,**_" he said as soothingly as he could to the child hiding in his coat. "_**It's– he's a doctor.**_"

The Courier looked up to meet the turian doctor's regretful eyes, and shook his head at it.

Thankful that at least one side understood the other's language, he watched the turian leave with an expression he'd yet to learn. Regret was the only fitting thing that came to mind, but the Courier couldn't be sure.

The whole mood here was somber, people groaning with pain or weeping in grief – it could only be overbearing for this girl, so he sat her on his lap in the quietest corner he could find and distracted her as best he could.

Something had broken her. Maybe she didn't see anything, but she sure as shit knew she lost something important. In the half-hour they had been here, no one came up to claim the child.

"_**You want your toy?**_" he held up the lion doll – a strong animal, he should know.

The child nodded. Then mumbled something; talking, for the first time.

"_**What was that?**_" He leaned in.

"_...Samson._"

He took pause, and looked to the lion. "_**That its name?**_"

She nodded again.

"_**Here you have Samson.**_" He hovered it near her, and she reached out gently, then tucked it into her embrace. "_**A good animal. Lions guard their pride.**_"

"_Pride?_"

"_**Family.**_" As soon as the word left his mouth he regretted saying it.

There was a silence.

"_Daddy gave it to me... Told me to hide._"

His gauntleted hand rubbed her back soothingly."_**He loved you, protected you like a lion.**_"

She nodded. "_Mommy too._"

"_**Girl lions are called lionesses. Did you know that?**_"

She shook her head.

"_**Well, your mommy was a lioness.**_"

The Courier was thankful to see Raleigh's father approaching. Pointed to him to distract her. "_**Look, little critter.**_"

She looked.

"_**This is my friend.**_"

Raleigh's father had a grim face as he approached, but as he saw the child he smiled a slight smile. It was as genuine a one he could muster at a time like this. Knew just as well as the Courier children could see through a forced one. "Hey there, kiddo. My name is Liam. Nice to meet you."

"_**Liam sounds like lion, doesn't it?**_" She didn't respond, but she didn't hide away in the Courier's coat either. "_**Liam will protect you. He has a son, big and strong. Brave too. And a wife. They'll keep you safe.**_"

She shook her head. "_...No._" Liam tried to look unaffected, but any parent would be dismayed from a child's rejection.

"_**Why not?**_"

"_You can protect me,_" she whispered.

"_**And I did. But... is it okay if I tell you something, child?**_"

She looked up at him slow, nodded. Curiosity, confusion, in her eyes.

"_**I'm scared too.**_"

Finally spoke, instead of whispering. "Why? You stopped the bad men."

The Courier leaned in, and whispered, "**I'm lost. Trying to find my family. I'm worried about them.**"

When he leaned back, her eyes showed surprise. "You lost your parents too?"

"_**...A lifetime**_**_ ago,_**" he managed with a strained voice. He cleared his throat, hardened it stone-steady. "_**But**** my friends are my family, and they're still alive. They make me smile. I keep them safe. But I was taken from them. I miss them, and I have to find them. I can't stay here.**_"

Her eyes widened. "You miss them?"

He nodded. "_**I do.**_"

She stared at him for a long time, then finally nodded. "Okay."

Oh, what a good heart the kid had. She deserved better than all this. Goddammit. He wished he could stay with her. **_"Thanks, little critter."_**

Liam knelt to face her eye-level, and took her from the Courier's hands. "Hey, kiddo. Are you hungry?" he asked as he carried her away. She nodded in his embrace. "Let's eat. You can meet my wife, and my son, Raleigh. Come on. We have some delicious stew, fill you right up."

The girl put her chin on Liam's shoulder, and, in the quietest voice, said. "_Good luck._"

Liam couldn't hear it.

But he did. The Courier looked to her to see her staring back, and nodded deeply to her.

Then, he waved goodbye. She didn't wave back.

Footsteps just the slightest bit odd clanked behind him as the girl left his sight.

_I didn't even ask her name._ He realized, with a tinge of regret. _Guess it'll be 'little critter.'_

"Supplies are coming in," said the turian with human words. "They'll be fine. Time to take _you_ to Aria."

The turian's voice still unnerved him, somewhat. But he expects he'll get used to it.

The Courier stood, and looked about. The shepherd stood with the amphibian doctor in a white coat, staring at him.

She understood his gaze, and the commander called her squadmembers to her, approached him. "Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded to her, and said to the turian, "_**Let's get this over with.**_"

* * *

Of all the places for this cesspool's ruler to keep their throne, the Courier should not have been surprised it would be in a strip club. Decadence and degeneracy.

The amphibian – Doctor Mordin the commander called him – stayed outside, for "security reasons" he said.

He dreaded what he might see in there, and only more so with every four-eyed beast and sharp-toothed screecher he passed by on his way there, but when the gates parted, he was bestowed with a surprisingly pleasant sight instead.

These screechers and beasts and avian and reptilian aliens all seemed to lust over what was little more than blue-skinned humans with tentacles instead of hair, poledancing in the swirling lights of garish neon that moaned debauchery.

It had to be some sort of pheromone from these blue-skins. Nothing about their physiology suggested it was made for attracting anything but their own species and humans.

Or maybe that was what every species thought of their own. Were these pheromones affecting him already?

_Dangerous – sirens made manifest. Need to keep an eye on their kind._

"Never seen an Asari before?" the turian ahead of him said, with a voice that sounded like it was coming through smiling lips.

How odd that a human who'd never met with aliens before could make out that distinction of a creature that didn't even have lips. This had to be an advanced translator to relay species-unique emotions.

Either that, or aliens weren't much different at all from humans.

"_**Never met an alien before three days ago.**_"

"Well, every species has their own needs not unlike each other."

"_**Evidently.**_" He looked ahead again. "_**Hurry this along.**_"

"You got it, boss..." Translator even relayed sarcasm.

Great...

As the Courier tried out "**Asari**..." to himself, the shepherd – commander – stepped in beside him.

"Who are your friends?"

His head flicked to face her in surprise – reaction surprised her in turn. "_**Friends?**_"

"You told the girl you were looking for your friends."

"_**Heard that?**_" Past all that commotion, at that distance?

"I snuck up behind you."

He'd have heard that. "_**No, you didn't.**_"

She stared, then looked away in relentment. "Yeah, I heard you. Still, can't say my hearing's as good as yours. Why is that?"

The look she had shot him was too knowing. "_**You have your theories.**_"

She didn't deny it. "Question is, are you going to confirm any of them?"

"_**I will do what needs doing to return to my family. But...**_"

She noticed his hesitation.

"_**...I will settle my debts if I can before then.**_"

All emotion on her face was replaced with focus, like an animal's cautioning for a fight. "What debt is that?"

Before he answered, they arrived at a set of stairs leading up to a booth.

The throne.

The guards, aliens, began scanning him, and after one of the four-eyed barked at him, the turian waved him along.

Once inside, he looked to the right, eyes running along a wide set of steps, until his gaze landed on a figure, an Asari, shadowed by the garish lights beaming at him from around her through the window.

She spoke without looking, authoritative words spoken in a halcyon voice, in a language he could only describe as melodic, as if dancing and swaying with the salacious neon lights around her.

The Courier began to understand more and more why these Asari were so intoxicating to everyone.

Suddenly, her arms glowed, and she held up her right hand, staring into an omni-tool, tapped at it.

"You understand me now?" said the impeccably human voice.

"_**I do.**_"

"Good."

"_**You are Aria.**_"

She turned – rather, spun around with a natural manner of grace – and looked down upon him like some alien Cleopatra of the galaxy's Gomorrah – of the Caananite's book that is, not the casino in Vegas.

Though the latter wouldn't be amiss in describing this place. It was just as whorish.

"First things first," her voice rang out echoing, "I don't know you." He kept silent. "Nothing gets into Omega's perimeters without me hearing about it. There was a large burst of radiation in Omega space, and a signal right in the middle of it, but it's picked up by the vessel of an apparently dead specter, hours just before you appear on this station without a trace as to where you were."

"_**Specter?**_" he turned his head, stared at the commander.

"Yes. The woman you're looking at is none other than Commander Jane Shepherd, first human specter and hero of humanity."

Hero of Humanity?

For the first time in a long time, the Courier found he couldn't read another's emotion. And not for the first time, Shepherd surprised him.

This apparently-famous Commander Jane Shepherd's countenance was of steel, her body rigid. Hair like blood in the dark of the corner where she stood, watching him.

"**_First human s_**_**pecter... you say that as if it's a title, or profession.**_"

The stunned silence made him turn around toward the imperious asari.

She looked aside to her turian lackey. "Varius, just what the hell is this?"

Varius stepped forth. "Guy says he comes from a planet in the middle of nowhere. Apparently never seen an alien before in his life until three days ago. The day the radiation burst appeared."

Aria's eyes widened ever so subtly.

The four-eyes that scanned him spoke, humanly, up in the back, in a thick baritone as vile as its visage. "He doesn't even have an omni-tool. Just some wrist-device that's got 'Pip-Boy' engraved on it."

He held his wrist up impatiently to show the currently-blank screen attached to it.

"_**I have more questions than you, I assure you, so let's get this over with so I can get answers.**_"

She cocked her head slightly. "If you're taking that tone with me, you really are ignorant."

"_**Among other things, I've been told, such as irreverent of authorities I choose to not recognize. I've recognized yours by coming here, so let's not waste our time with your pride and talk.**_"

Her eyes narrowed, guards stepped in with threatening intent, her pride clearly insulted.

Impatient, he took a step up the stairs. "_**Listen to me!**_" the demand boomed stoically.

Whirring sounds exploded in the booth as Aria's lackeys pulled out unfolding weapons. The asari held up a hand to halt.

Courier looked back over his shoulder. Dark-hair and dark-skin reached for their pistols, but they stood indecisive. Shepherd had pulled out her own, but she just held it, eyes choosing erratically – no predicting her targets, if she was going for him or Aria and her lackeys.

It mattered little to the Courier, in the end. He looked up to Aria again, and took another step.

Then another step, and another, and continued as he spoke his question. "**_See the b_**_**lood on me? Blue, purple. Not one splotch of red, no, you'll find that beneath my boots, because most humans were dead by the time I arrived. I was asleep, got woken up to the fire and the screams. A coincidence I was there. Luck. Wouldn't be nearly as many survivors if I hadn't been. Understand something, I've witnessed a massacre of innocent lives after days trying to survive in a world I don't know – a massacre that, to hear the victims tell of it, **_**you **_**allowed. Aria; that's the name they kept spitting on, cursing. I'm a stranger to Omega. So let me ask you something, **_**Aria**_**.**_"

He arrived at the top, stared down into fearless, arrogant eyes.

"_**What kind of ruler are you?**_" he asked, in a voice that became increasingly louder. "_**Another useless politician? Warlord? Merchant? Are lives a currency, or tools at your disposal? Less than dirt? Are you simply incompetent? How could that which happened today have been allowed?!**_"

"Choose your next words carefully. I'm thankful for what you did, but don't think you've got immunity–"

"_**An arrogant warlord, your words are telling me. I assure you, Aria, **_**you **_**will want to choose your coming words carefully, because if I am not satisfied...**_"

He shifted his coat, placed a hand on his Remington's grip.

"Back! Off! Tough-guy!" the turian Varius shouted suddenly, aiming right at his head, along with the other six guards.

His previous words echoed in a haunting reminder of the idiocy he just committed. He was really in no position to be saying any of this, but he was too goddamn tired, too furiously righteous not to. The things he had seen, suffered, saved... survived.

Why, there was not a more exemplary a judge on this space-station named Omega than him.

"_**Did you allow this?**_" he asked, emphatically, dangerously.

She uncrossed her arms, clenched her fists, leaned in. Hands pulled back, as if to launch him off his feet with a punch.

"I didn't allow jack-shit. You dealt with rogue elements no one foresaw. Not me, not my advisors, not the hundreds of thousands of other mercs on this station. Trust me, when I get my hands on the rest of these greedy idiots, the rest'll fall in line." She cocked her angular, attractive visage, smirking. Deceptive allure, like a poisonous rose. "They always do. So you wanna make a move, make it now, because if you don't stand down in the next five seconds I'm going to pull that big tongue of yours out of your mouth anyways."

Another silence, guards whispering to each other. Shepard and her two squadmates – dark-hair and dark-skin – alert and primed to fight. For whom? He wondered.

It didn't matter. There would be no fight.

"_**I am... relieved.**_" He took his hand off the grip.

"Brave, is another word," she said, smiling at him. She liked him, he could tell. Either whatever siren trait they had was affecting him, or the Asari were more human than he could have foreseen.

Like that, every gun in the room was folded and holstered. The Courier had to wonder which of them escaped death. Something about her told him they both might have.

Aria sat down in her cushioned booth. "Come. You too, Shepherd!"

The Courier looked out the window where Afterlife glared. "Sit," she said, in the voice that never stopped sounding commanding.

He sat on the couch by the right wall. Shepherd, when she reached the top, sat on the left. Opposite him, staring.

The smile was gone from Aria's face. "Now, before we go any further. Whatever's happened, whoever you are," she said, glancing toward the Courier, "I need to know if you two and your situation will affect my business anymore than you already have."

The Courier said nothing.

"All I know is we're having a talk," Shepherd said.

"Well, I can tell from the tense and uninterrupted staring that it'll lead to something... _explosive_. Frankly, I don't care if you're trying to kill or fuck eachother, but right now I can't have anymore disruptions. People will already be up in arms about this."

"_**Noted.**_"

"Guess that's as good as I'm getting with you." Without looking away, she raised a hand and waved someone over. "Courier, huh?"

He regarded her curiously. "_**Only Raleigh knows about that. He works for you?**_" Kids are more clever than people give them credit for. He knew that even before Freeside.

"Don't know, but word gets around, especially when you're taking out merc squads with pre-spaceflight weaponry. Fact of the matter is, you've done me a big favor. I already had a bounty out on these guys, but the way you told it, you didn't know. So I'm throwing in something extra for principles. Even if I don't share them. Hold out your arm."

He did. Varius wrapped something metallic around just above his elbow and another below his wrist.

"You know how to use it?"

It being...? "_**...Is this an omni-tool?**_"

"I'll take that as a no. Yes, it's an omni-tool. Lower your arm, and raise it in front of you like it's a screen."

He did as she said, and flinched as his entire forearm, just like Doctor Karin's, was lit up by an orange sleeve. Code faster than even his eyes could see ran through it. It was booting up, he realized.

Varius grabbed his arm with his three-taloned hand, stared at it. "Give it a sec..." He gave it a tap, paused, then tapped twice more in close succession. "Alright. Congrats on your brand new omni-tool, updated and secure."

"_**I'll safeguard against any backdoors myself**_ _**once I learn this coding...**_ _**No offense,**_" he said to Aria.

"Don't worry, I had a trusted associate handle the creation of an account. Security won't be an issue. It's legit, so if you intend to enter Citadel space, you'll have the credentials to make purchases. I wouldn't trust my soldiers either," she said.

"Your faith really is the best reward an employee can ask for, boss," Varius said, before turning and walking down the steps.

The Courier couldn't help but stare after him. "_**Turians understand sarcasm...**_" It was still bizarre to see.

"Unfortunately," Aria confirmed.

He look at her. "_**How did you know to make me an account?**_"

"Varius took care of it while you were busy threatening me."

Something occurred to him. Even the concession of allowing his threats to go unpunished... no, that wasn't stupidity.

Aria was more dangerous than he had realized.

"He made sure to count the dead, too, so the bounty's accurate."

The Courier wasn't interested in that. "_**What'll happen with the survivors?**_"

"They'll be taken care of. And before you ask, precautions are none of your business. You can stop worrying."

"_**So be it.**_" That wouldn't happen.

He looked down at his omni-tool, turning it, inspecting its projections.

Then he put his other hand through it, and was pleased to see it dissipate, revealing his pip-boy. This was good. He could quickly make use of both.

Still... he did not want this thing to start glowing the place up while he was trying to hide behind a corner. He'd have to learn its workings quickly.

"Is it to your satisfaction?"

"_**This will do.**_" Not that he had any idea what it does or what to do with it.

Looking up from the pip-boy, the Courier's eyes did a double-take.

All the tiredness, confusion, brokenness in Shepherd's eyes had... gone. Just gone. Replaced with eyes that saw too much in him, the way he acted.

She knew there was something off about him.

"All your funds have been transferred. Shepherd, I've sent yours to the Normandy. Your kill-count is accurate, too."

"Then our business is concluded." Shepherd stood. Finally breaking her stare, she walked down the stairs. The Courier mirrored her.

"Until next time," Aria said quietly.

As they descended, Shepherd said to him, "We'll talk once we're out of here." She gestured to her soldiers, who fell in beside.

"_**Sure.**_"

The four left the VIP suite, and the bursting music and dearth of air, the garish dancers and sickening lights, metallic stench.

In the silence, he was deafened by memories of the day. Fire and screams. They wouldn't leave his head.

But that was alright. He didn't hate it. He shouldn't forget. He should remember that someone did this. He was going to find out who.

* * *

The club beats were insulated by the doors shutting behind them, and the sound of Omega's true, grimy nature returned in full force. Shepard found the air filthy.

"_**Where will we talk?**_" the black voice said.

She stopped. "Depends."

Realizing his was the only footsteps making noise, the courier stopped after a few steps, and turned around, faced with Shepard and her squad.

"Where do we stand?"

His posture changed slowly, relaxed, but not in a way that let his guard down. It was a relief of the muscles. It was... acceptance.

It was Jacob that spoke up first of the two Cerberus ops, unsurprisingly. "Seems you got a lot to answer for."

Shepard looked over her shoulder at him with a warning in her eyes.

"_**I do,**_" he responded.

That surprised them. Shepard especially, who didn't know what to expect from the man.

"I don't know what you're playing at," Jacob continued. "I don't even know why Shepard brought you along. But if she wasn't here–"

"_**You'd shoot me again, I don't doubt.**_"

Jacob was taken aback, and Shepard was surprised too that the stranger knew it was him who fired the shot that put a hole in his armor's chest. The situation wasn't so black and white in hindsight.

It seemed to Shepard that this courier had had the same realization in the past days. If his behavior was anything to go by, anything to trust.

"_**Don't blame you. You were protecting your own. Thought I was doing the same. Don't apologize, I won't. Apologies won't unbreak bones.**_" He looked to Miranda. "_**Won't seal knife wounds. I'll tell you where I stand. Alone. I want to join you.**_"

Shepard concealed her surprise. She expected neither his honesty nor his proposition.

"Why should I let you onto my ship?" she asked.

Unlike the dick-measuring contest five minutes prior between him and Aria, she didn't tell him how much his next words mattered.

"_**Never said you should. But I'm asking anyway.**_"

"You're not gonna try to convince me?"

"_**I will.**_"

They stood in silence. Beats and sirens and clamor of distant crowds echoing all around.

A black, stone statue, unmoving.

Shepard cocked her head, assessed. A man of action, not words.

"Why _do_ you want to join us?"`

"Shepard!" Miranda started.

She cut her off with a hand. "Question still stands."

"_**To repay my debts.**_ _**You were telling the truth. You helped me.**_"

Her eyes widened. "When did you arrive to that conclusion," she asked.

"_**You saw it,**_" he said.

Confused, she frowned.

In response, he looked to his right, out where space was.

The memory flashed through Shepard's mind then, how he'd fallen to his knees, shocked by something he saw. If space gave him that realization he was talking about...

"_**Besides, Aria said your ship found a signal in space.**_"

"Who are you, that do not know your history?" she quoted.

He looked back at her again. "_**Message wasn't meant for you.**_"

"...It was meant for your friends, wasn't it?"

He nodded curtly. "**_Was for them to find._**" His words were enigmatic, their meaning even more so. Why that message, why history? What did it mean?

Realizing that yet again she didn't know anything, that did it. "You're coming."

Taylor and Lawson were too surprised to even protest. The Courier stared at her. She couldn't see if he was surprised in those eyes. It was just a mask.

But she'd pry that thing off if she had to. "Come what may, you asked for this. If you're telling the truth, fine. Mistakes happened, and no one died, so live and let live." She got up in his face, scowling. "If you're lying? Goddamn you, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my soldiers even if I have to put you down."

"_**Consequence is the unavoidable truth of the world, Shepard. I am an adult. I'll live and die with mine.**_"

"Good. I'm going to need you to hand over your weapons." She gestured the operatives toward him. "My crew won't be thrilled to see you marching back into my ship armed to the teeth. This'll help ease tensions."

Without pause (she noticed), he wordlessly unslung his lever-action and handed it Miranda, emptied the leather of his revolvers' holsters and handed the black-and-blue metals to Jacob (who took them with barely-concealed eagerness, nerd that he was), and unsheathed the falcata beneath the back of his coat which Miranda grabbed.

He lifted his coat by the waist and turned around to show he had no other weapons on him.

"_**Full disclosure,**_" he said, and unfurled his fingers in a flicking motion. On each, a razor-sharp nail protruded. "_**Implants. Nothing to be done about them.**_"

She stared at them, scoffed. That's how he got loose. "Alright."

Lawson was quite a sight, holding an antique lever-action rifle in one hand and a sword in the other. The prototype drug was taking its toll on her once-regal appearance.

Suddenly Mordin was there as if from nowhere, and she stifled a jerk. He stood out like a sore, sterile-white thumb.

Fucking STG would give her a heart attack. "Doctor!" she greeted, trying to hide how much he startled her. "You ready?"

He nodded. "Commander Shepard. I am." He promptly faced the man beside her. "You must be Bruce Wayne. The Courier." He held out a hand to a surprised courier.

"_**I understand you too...**_"

"Omni-tool handles that for you," Shepard explained, staring.

"_**I see.**_"

If this guy was acting, no one could say he wasn't being consistent. Just what angle was he playing at?

"_**Raleigh has a big mouth.**_" He accepted the salarian's hand, and shook it slowly. "_**Excuse my apprehension. Human gestures from a... from not a human still strikes me as bizarre.**_"

"Curious." Shepard saw Mordin immediately become analytical. "Never met alien before."

"_**No.**_"

"Where did you say you were from?"

"_**I didn't... but I expect I will, soon enough.**_"

"You're not acting, are you?"

That seemed to surprise him, if his head snapping to her direction was any indication. "_**What act?**_" he asked her.

She smiled with a furrowed brow, shaking her head. "Like you've never seen an alien before. Never been in space. Like you're lost. Either it isn't an act, or you're the most meticulous and complicated liar I've ever met. And, buddy, I've met the fucking worst of 'em."

"_**I... can imagine there are more practical acts to fool you with.**_"

He wasn't wrong about that. He'd have been better off pretending to be in a far more believable predicament than _this_.

"Hold on," said Jacob, "I'm confused – this guy's _actually _never met an alien before?"

"He couldn't even understand turians," Shepard said. "He was without an omni-tool all this time. The omni-tool Aria gave him matched no known ID. Or she'd have already found out who you are, your name, the second you were born, who gave you your first blowjob, you name it. That means no account to wire your money into. She had to create one. That means you existed in neither Terminus nor Citadel space."

_And I dreamed you._ That was the straw that broke the camel's back, the one constant unknown that broke the reality of the situation.

"Just who _are_ you?" Miranda demanded, stepping forward. He didn't answer her.

Exactly. Who was he?

A courier?

What a shit fucking answer. That means nothing, Shepard's not settling for that.

_I'm getting to the bottom of this,_ she stared at him. _I'll find out the truth. God help you if it's bullshit, because I'll find out._

"EDI?" she called, not taking her eyes off him.

"Yes, Commander?" its synthetic cadence spoke.

"Get word to the crew, we're having an old guest over."

"Understood."

* * *

The Courier had come to a conclusion in the past days, during times of contemplation and planning.

New Vegas taught much, and gambling, to let go of instinct and training and conditioning and dare to throw the dice, was one of its most important lessons. One of only two lessons more important than that was _when_ you should throw them. He knew the best thing now was to throw the dice with Shepherd – his story, the truth, lay it all out on the table like paperwork. Bare the chink in his armor and chance that she'd patch it up. Maybe live up to her name for him, even.

He just wishes he knew why he was choosing _her._ For a dream? Making him relive his terrors were all they had ever done.

But that didn't matter. A door that had been opened once can be opened again. If there wasn't a key, he would have to make one.

Or remake the old one. To do that, he'd have to find the transportalponder again. Only Shepherd could know where it is.

So he followed her, his dream, into the ship where hate awaited him.

* * *

Shepard felt like a C-Sec chief bringing in a notorious serial killer with how her crew glared at her charge. Undeterred by the glares and returning with an enigmatic stare of his own, the stranger strode stoically past the crowd of armed soldiers that lined their path to the briefing room. They'd been briefed themselves by EDI, and they prepared, but were given strict orders that no hostile action was to be taken until either the stranger took such actions first or Shepard gave the order.

Their discipline could only do so much for their observable distaste and intimidated awe of the stranger, but it helped that he was unarmed and compliant to soothe the tension.

When the doors of the conference room reassembled shut behind them, Shepard, Miranda, and Jacob were left alone with him. The latter two had given his weapons to Patel and Rolston, so he was the only one unarmed in the room.

He had been looking around the ship constantly, inspecting it. Maybe for weaknesses? It couldn't just be curiosity. Not with this man.

Well, so Shepard had thought.

And yet when the briefing table rose, he circled it with an attentive stare, ran his armored hands along its smooth surfaces, strained, as if a caveman that has never seen such symmetrical perfection. She realized he was straining to reign in his curiosity.

Suddenly, he looked up from the table. It almost made her flinch. She had gotten so used to being blinded by a red glare, yet now the red of his glass eyes did not shine blindingly nor painfully. They just... shone.

"_**Before anything else, I need to know where my belongings are held.**_"

"You'll get your weapons back when you convince me you can be trusted," she tried to reassure.

"_**Not talking about my damn weapons. You want safety for your crew, that's your prerogative. I'm talking about everything else you found. You have a particular handheld device shaped like a detonator with an antenna on it and a blue, electric tube. It has a red trigger cap.**_"

"Everything we found was kind of 'particular,' but..." She stared. "Yeah, we found it on you. Like I said, you'll get it back–"

"_**Any and all items you found will be returned immediately. I know for a fact some of them are objects of foreign technology to you. I don't know what kind of equipment you have on this ship, but I'm not saying shit until I'm sure you're not reverse-engineering anything without my permission.**_"

She crossed her arms. "Anyone ever tell you your diplomatic skills suck?" She said it lightly but harshly, making it clear she was not appreciative of his tone after the leniency she's given him to even allow him back on the ship.

After a pause however, he took a quiet breath. "_**Sorry.**_" She was as surprised for it as she was grateful. He wasn't going to be a complete asshole, at least. "_**However, my planet suffered the consequences of technology outpacing human maturity. Make no mistake, this is non-negotiable.**_"

Shepard uncrossed her arms, regarded him contemplatively, then nodded. "Fine. Lawson, give the order to R&D."

She moved to protest. "Shepard–"

"If the Illusive Man has a problem with it, he can take it up with me personally. He's not researching shit until the man gives the go-ahead."

Lawson nodded reluctantly. "Understood."

As the operative gave the order on her omni-tool, Shepard was surprised to be given a curt bow from her guest. "_**Gratitude.**_"

She couldn't help but smile, and mimicked a curt bow of her own head. "Don't mention it."

"_**Anyone else you trust?**_"

She frowned with confusion.

"_**I have something to tell you. What's it called? A... 'doozy'?**_"

Hearing _that_ word coming out of the mouth of _that_ man with _that _voice in _that_ stoic cadence, Jane couldn't stop herself from bursting out into a chuckle. Miranda and Jacob were surprised by her reaction.

Even the Courier balked. But he continued. "_**Call on your essentials. Lieutenants, whatever elsewise-named ranks you have under you.**_"

The way he said faded her mirth.

Not a minute later, Mordin entered, followed closely by Zaeed Massani.

"This the one fucked everyone up?" Zaeed asked.

The Courier's gaze found him. "_**Must have missed you.**_"

"I was taking care of business. Had a contract to finish."

_Lucky you,_ Shepard thought. "All field operatives are present." The Courier's attention redirected to her. "EDI, get in here. I want him to know exactly who's listening."

A holographic bulb expanded in the middle of the table. "Yes, Commander."

"_**A.I.**_" he stated with a curious inflection, leaning forward with his hands on the table. "_**Fully sapient?**_"

"I am. Do not be alarmed, however. I am a shackled Artificial Intelligence."

His inflection turned severe. "_**Shackled? By whom?**_"

"The Illusive Man. You are aware this is a Cerberus vessel," it stated. "Curious. Your voice indicated you find my shackling displeasing. This is an anomalous sentiment."

He looked around at everyone's face, a mixture of surprise and skepticism. "_**So it seems.**_" The Courier sighed quietly. "_**Very well. Should start explaining. Ask. Then I'll give the doozy.**_"

She snorted, shook her head, then approached until she stood right in front of him, and then leaned back on the table, hands on its surface at her sides. Her mirth was gone, stare boring into his mask's. "Not too long ago you said I wasn't lying when I said we saved you. Did you think I was lying because you thought we were Cerberus?"

"_**Don't know what that is?**_"

She stared at him. "You don't know what Cerberus is." She made it clear she didn't believe him.

He shook his head.

"Uh-huh. Okay. So then why'd you think I was lying because I said it?" With the doctor as his meat shield, he had barked her words at her like proof of her supposed deception, and placed emphasis on Cerberus.

He wasn't making a lot of sense right now. Holes in his story, finally?

Nope. Turns out he had an answer for that. "_**Cerberus is of the Hellenic mythos. My enemies are... they consider themselves legionaries of old Rome. Took its name, wear gear in red and gold colors like the old empire. Even take slaves like it.**_"

"Doesn't sound like any group I've ever heard of," Massani said, and Shepard could say the same. "Can't be mercenary."

"**_They despise mercenaries as a rule. _**_**No, you wouldn't have heard of them. You'll find out why, soon. Anyway, last thing I remember was fighting them – the legionaries – before I woke up here, tied down, guards outside the room. When I heard the name **_'_**Cerberus**_'_** – well, it was the perfect storm.**_"

Shepard watched him curiously as he look down, then up, then down again, and stared at the floor, as if contemplating.

When he looked up, he admitted, "_**No, a lie. It was a flawed storm, truth of it is. Legion would never resort to mercenaries. Much less with women as leaders. The whole ship – none of it like anything I'd ever seen before. Nothing made sense, you couldn't have been with the Legion. The only thing was your weapons - as advanced as the ones the Legion used. It was odd, they were never known for advanced weaponry.**_"

She frowned and shook her head, holding up her hands, "Wait, I'm having a hard time understanding this. Why'd you resort to violence – to such a degree that you broke the bones of almost every crew member?"

This time, he looked down – subtly – as if in shame. "_**Fear. Stupidity.**_"

She scoffed in disbelief. Anger seeped through it. "You brutalize my soldiers, and lay your hands on Karin, an innocent bystander – a fucking _doctor_ – because you were afraid."

"_**Also stupid,**_" he reminded with regret in his voice.

She took a deep breath. "If you're trying to convince me to keep from putting a bullet in your head, you succeeded when you saved those people on the station. But you want me to go so far as to let you serve on my _ship_? I gotta say, it's looking positively fucking abysmal for you." She crossed her arms. "Do you have anything else to say for yourself?"

He did, it seemed. "_**The doctor said a name when she thought I was unconscious.**_"

"What name? What're you talking about?"

"_**Veronica. My friend.**_" Her bitter lineaments quickly softened. "_**At the time I was still reeling from my fight against the Legion, injuries sustained. Was paranoid when I woke up strapped down with machinery all around me. Last time that happened... something was taken from me that no one had the right to take.**_"

Shit. He made it sound like he'd been experimented on or something. Could that be where he got his superhumanity from that EDI was talking about?

"_**When I heard one of my friends's name was known to, who I thought was trying to kill me, cut me open even... All signs that said you weren't Legion vanished. Perception blinded, cognition dulled with emotion. Dumb like an animal, lashing out.**_"

"Fog of war," Zaeed muttered. "Happens. Besides, waking up from unconsciousness strapped down to a bed is not exactly a situation you want to be in following a firefight."

"So you were trying to protect your friends," she realized. "But you didn't kill any of us. You _chose_ not to. If you were trying to protect your friends, why didn't you?"

"_**Deep down, part of me knew something was off. Never knew what. But it was enough to stay my hand.**_"

She stared at his body language.

He was lying, she _knew _it. Not even a gut feeling, just fact. He had a reason for not killing them.

"Yeah you do. You know."

"_**...Have suspicions,**_" he admitted, to everyone's surprise but hers. "_**But I need to make sure I haven't gone insane first before I can even consider telling you.**_"

That was far more cryptic an answer than she'd have liked... but it was honest, she could tell. Besides, she knew what that felt like. Her dream still had her wondering if all this was even real.

"_**Anyway, decided to escape the ship, get my bearings. Once I knew where my feet stood, I'd take care of you. If you were lying, were with the Legion, I'd hunt you down. If not... well, here I am. Trying to repay you.**_"

Not knowing what to think, she pondered quietly. "We'll discuss the matter of your repayment after my decision, and that's still a ways away. I still have questions for you."

Lawson and Taylor seemed relieved, even pleased. She couldn't blame them – no one would forgive some guy who stabbed or beat them (respectively) because of a misunderstanding.

"How about this planet you're from? The place that's apparently disconnected from the rest of the galaxy."

He nodded. "_**Need to know something first.**_"

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"_**Might help me explain my situation better. This is to do with the doozy.**_"

Shepard repressed a chuckle. "Shoot."

"_**What is the date?**_"

The date? Not the question she was expecting.

"It is January 25th," said EDI, "2185."

His head jerked toward EDI's avatar. "_**What?!**_"

The vehement surprise took Shepard and her crew aback. They looked from EDI to him.

"Curious," muttered Mordin. "Not the reaction I was expecting."

EDI repeated herself. "It is January 25th, 2185."

He stared standing still at the A.I. Shepard barely noticed him shaking his head in disbelief. "_**Impossible.**_"

Miranda scowled. "What's the matter?" It wasn't a question born of concern, that much was for sure.

Shepard stared wordlessly with as steely an expression she could pull off, unrevealing of her interest.

"_**October 23rd, 2077,**_" the Courier said, suddenly facing Shepard. "_**Does the date mean anything to you?**_"

"To me? No," she shook her head.

He flinched back as if struck. He looked around aimlessly, lost. "_**Any of you?**_"

No one answered.

"You wanna tell us what's going on, mailman?" Jacob demanded impatiently.

"_**What is the human homeworld? Tell me its name!**_"

An incredulous expression managed to twist onto Shepard's face. "Earth?"

"_**So you know it.**_"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

"Latin name, 'Terra'," Mordin supplemented.

"_**You know about Latin?**_"

"Yeah, we know about Latin. We know about the Roman Empire, too– look," She stood up straight. "You realize how unhinged you're acting right now, right?"

"_**Doesn't matter, show me.**_"

"Show you what?"

"_**Earth. Can you do that?**_"

She looked around, just to see if this was really happening – and Shepard found she wasn't alone. Everyone else was as bewildered by this guy as she was. Only Mordin seemed fascinated, though he hid it well with thoughtful looks.

Jane knew there was something going on, there had to be. Or she wouldn't have dreamed him.

"EDI, bring up a projection of Earth."

"Do you wish for a live transmission?"

"Go ahead."

The table sunk into the metal floor, and the room dimmed as a globe materialized to life in holographic lights.

The blue of its vast oceans fracturing the green-swarmed landmass of forests, jungles, and marshes, the white of its poles sprawled out in the south and north, the reddish yellow of its deserts, the metal and light of its bustling cities.

It was unmistakable to almost any human.

Earth. Just like she remembered. Jane didn't miss it, or its streets. But it never failed to instill that faint patriotic zeal in her looking at it.

She looked aside and watched the Courier as he whispered so quietly a word she didn't understand, arm reaching out slowly from his side toward the projection of the slowly-spinning globe like a man reaching for memories. No one said a thing, but everyone watched.

Eventually he reached what he wanted, but the illusion revealed itself to be nothing more, fraying into static as the projection was disturbed. Startled, he pulled his hand back.

Shepard could read the disappointment on him, even feel it.

"You alright?" she asked, perhaps more concerned than she should be.

"_**...It's so green.**_"

She stared at him with a furrowed brow, regarding, contemplating him. Jane didn't like how he said it – it was news to him. Why? She gave him some time to find his bearings, but he never did. "Courier."

He flinched awake, looked at her as if surprised, then looked back. "_**EDI, show me America.**_"

"The United States, or the continents?"

"_**The United States.**_"

The projecting froze, then spun in reverse until the United States was facing him, and zoomed in. She backed up until she stood beside him, and watched as he asked EDI to show him around the different states, passing over each one until he landed in Nevada. There, he zoomed in, until you could finally see the outlines of cities. He stared at Las Vegas, then took to looking at the desert around it – the Mojave Desert. He stared at the swaying, green grass of the countless oases for almost a minute; the result of years of desert-greening.

Suddenly, he wandered to Arizona. He didn't even ask to see its urban areas, instead immediately told EDI to show him the desert. It too had been terraformed, and housed symmetrical tracts of farmland, with the occassional patch of wild desert flora.

A motion from the Courier turned her attention beside her, and she looked as, staring up at a point in the Arizona wilds, he absently reached up and held the stone slab fetish that hung from his neck.

"Hey." He didn't answer, so she tried again. "Hey!"

His hand quickly fell to his side from his necklace, and the black-armor clad man turned to face them he looked down, and sighed audibly. "_**A minute.**_"

That was all he said.

When projection deactivated and the table rose up again, he leaned on it for support. His mask's expression revealed no thought.

Shepard glanced back at her operatives. All she got were shrugs and eyes that saw as much as she did, which is to say: not much at all.

Jacob, Miranda, and Zaeed suddenly jumped to alert, so Shepard quickly spun back.

Without speaking a word, his hand had reached for the back of his waist. They heard the button of one his pouches pop open, and relaxed. When he faced back towards them, he held out his left hand, and opened it.

Shepard leaned in, and frowned as she saw what he was holding.

"A pocket-watch?" She looked up at him.

He nodded, then shook his hand for her to take it.

She did. The brass was cold in her hand. The floral lid was simply engraved, but intricately. When she opened it, she saw that the clock's arms were unsurprisingly yet disappointingly stuck.

It looked like a vintage, the real deal. More, it felt like one.

Jacob came up behind her as she inspected it. "Shepard?" his voice inquired.

"It's stuck," she mumbled in her scrutiny.

Jacob frowned up at the Courier. "Why are you showing us a broken watch?"

"_**It belonged to Randall Dean Clark.**_"

"_Randall Dean Clark..._"she muttered to herself. Then Shepard looked up from the watch. "Who was he?"

"_**A US Army veteran. He was born on the 5th of February, 2053. I found it on his remains.**_"

US veteran? There was no such thing anymore, unless you heard someone's great-grandfather talk about his own father. Otherwise, there were only Alliance vets anymore.

"I thought you said you only ever lived on one planet," she said.

He stared.

"But you said you never heard of aliens before – the only way an Earthborn can't have met an alien, much less hear about them is if they never left their room. Of all the things you strike me as, a hermit isn't one of them."

He kept staring, right into her eyes with his soulless ones, but this time he reached forward, and tapped the clockface once with an armored finger. "_**It's stuck on 6:38 AM. It froze on October 23rd, 2077. It was the day over ten-thousand nuclear warheads were launched by the United States Armed Forces, the People's Liberation Army of China, the Soviet Armed Forces, and many more Old-World countries against each other.**_"

Astonished, she stared up at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. The names she had read about in history books, the Soviet Union, the PLA, the US Armed Forces...

Jane looked back down to the watch of vintage brass and clockwork. Scratched, cracked, scraped. Wrapped in layers of dust and rust.

Scarred by history.

A history that had never happened.

"What?!" Miranda's incredulous voice scoffed. "Are you serious?"

"That's impossible!" said Jacob. "That doesn't make any sense."

Zaeed's voice was of quiet delight. "Oh, this turned out even better than I thought it would."

Mordin's voice popped up in the conversation. "Either flawless liar, or incredibly exceptional. Very curious how you came to be either."

"This raises interesting questions," EDI said. "Nuclear Holocaust is clearly what is being implied, which is curious considering the circumstances in which we found you."

"Curious?!" Miranda exclaimed. "This is absurd, EDI!" She glared at the Courier. "Nothing of the sort ever happened on October 23rd of _any_ year– on any planet for that matter. What are you even trying to imply?"

"A time-traveler? Better yet, a traveler from an alternate reality." Jacob chuckled, like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world, absent any mirth. "Come on, this guy must have heard the crew gossiping about him, it's exactly the kind of bullshit Donnelly was spouting. He's a good liar, that's all there is to it."

Massani shrugged. "If you ask me, there're simpler things to lie about." But even his blind eye peered attentively at the stranger's form.

"He was found in inexplicable circumstances and surrounded by objects that potentially, perhaps even likely, reinforce his story," EDI pointed out. "This may warrant... skeptical consideration."

"But how is this possible? How are you here, in a world where no nuclear holocaust ever happened to the human species?" Mordin asked. "What caused this? Technology, accident? Fighting these legionaries, last thing you remember?"

Soon, the questions of his claims and challenges to his story devolved into a mess of voices bickering between those who held for the Courier distrust and and others that granted him reluctant heed.

But the Courier didn't say a word. Just watched, as they argued amongst themselves in their disbelief. This reaction didn't surprise him at all, he expected this.

What reaction did surprise him was the composure of Commander Jane Shepherd, whose visible confusion had disappeared completely from her beautiful face. Expressionless, she stared at the clock face, as if it was ticking. Her thumb brushed across it, scraping against its flaws.

Suddenly, she clenched her hand, shutting the pocket-watch's lid, and turned to face her debating crew.

The Courier was stunned by the speed with which their voices died down, like a switch had been flicked, and they turned to her surprised, then discipline took over. When she turned back to face him again, he understood why.

Cassandra Moore was a woman who commanded respect through her military record, strategic and tactical know-how, and her no-nonsense attitude and tone of voice. NCR footmen would stand at attention at the slightest hint of her presence – she earned such deference.

Commander Jane Shepherd seemed in another league entirely. In utter silence, she managed what Moore couldn't with words, demands, and shouts: she set off the Courier's amygdala, fear memories - like a Radstag caught in a Yao Guai's gaze.

He reigned in the fears naturally, but they had still happened. And that made him wonder.

It wasn't her angerless scowl, but her eyes. Memories of Arizona no more, her eyes burned his skin beneath the armor like cold fire, and in them her will was bare.

And he saw that, alone, even as broken as he knew Shepherd stood, that will was more dangerous than all of Moore's acuity, fury, and authority together.

To him, along with the framing mane of fire, her verdant eyes were her crowning feature.

Slowly, he realized she was holding out the pocket-watch to him, and he shook himself from his stupor. He took it with too much caution, and pocketed it in the pouch where he always kept it.

He absolutely needs to keep an eye on this one.

Shepard found herself looking down at his body armor, with disguised disbelief.

What kind of power armor was too weak to stop normal small-arms fire? His body armor had two new holes in addition to the one Taylor put in his chest. Another in his left calf. Their sizes suggested nothing more than Avengers.

"Your armor isn't that advanced, is it?" she stated more than asked. "That means inferior radiation shielding. Any normal person should've died out there where we found you, and unlike me you probably didn't take any radiation pills, did you? Just... can you explain that to me?"

"_**Developed natural resistance... and some mutations help.**_"

"What kind of mutations?" An idea came as soon as the sentence left her. "The kind caused by radiation."

He nodded. "_**Was fortunate for the heat. Space temperature might've killed me where the radiation couldn't, to hear you tell of it.**_"

She sighed. "Okay. So you're saying this only planet you ever lived on, it's Earth. And on October 23rd, 2077, it was devastated by over ten-thousand nuclear missiles from several countries."

"Commander, surely you don't believe him?!" Miranda exclaimed as the Courier said "_**Yes. Result of years of growing conflict.**_"

Shepard faced Lawson. "I haven't decided yet. I'm gonna hear what he's got to say, then I'm making a decision. And don't call me Commander Shirley," she deadpanned, before turning back to the Courier.

"So that's when you ended up here?"

"_**During the Great War?**_" He said like it was the most absurd thing. "_**Ah, no. I was born long after. Only heard people talk about it. Lasted only two hours. Then, Earth was cinders and ash.**_"

"So humanity survived."

"_**And ended up no less mature for their lesson.**_"

_That's what you meant before, when you wanted your weapons back, _she realized. Technology in the wrong hands had burned a world from him, a world he would never know.

Suddenly, the way he had been acting when he stared at Earth's projection made all the sense in the world, and her heart ached for him.

She reminded herself he could _(could) _be lying, and felt a little bit better.

"What was the date you got here? Can you remember?"

"_**Hmm. 2284... between the 22nd to the 24th of August, can't remember. Was stalking this particular group of Legion for a while, didn't pay much attention to the date.**_"

Every major question that popped up in her head during the day she found him, she realized could be answered with his story, whether it regarded him or the items found around him. The details... would have to wait. There were too many of them to sort out now.

"_**Many things that I could tell you,**_" he said. "_**Things you could never know. The opposite's true, too, for me. Lot of things I don't understand about this world– or, worlds might be a better word. You could help me with that.**_" Then the Courier crossed his arms absently, not as a gesture. "**_Got a question now, actually. _**_**These worlds? Its... community, let's call it. Between all the species. How large is it?**_"

"Galactic."

His arms slipped from each other limply, and his shoulders started shaking, and a sonorous, humorless laughter left him as he turned around. It was a sound so twisted deep and dark it had no business being called laughter, but that's what it was. And it was lost.

"_**Where the fuck have I gotten myself this time? Goddamn you, you should have let it go,**_" he almost barked, laughter's echo in his voice dying.

"Let what go?"

He looked over his shoulder as if remembering they were there. "_**Legionaries. Hold a long hatred, an old hatred, against them. Blinded me to what was waiting for me at home. Now I'm paying the price for it.**_" Turning around, he continued. "_**I've said all I intend to for now. Make your decision with what I've given.**_"

She actually chuckled. Her dream had made her decision for her.

No way was she letting him leave her sight. If what he said was true... well, she'll worry about what that means later. As curious as she is, the dream's far more pressing. If her mind was breaking open and seeing into other realities, she needs to know as soon as possible.

Goddammit. Didn't she have enough to worry about with the Collectors? She just wanted to rest for once.

Shepard sighed. All she could do was wade through it all. After all, she never knew how to do anything else.

"EDI. Register him as a member of the crew." She heard scoffs behind her, could feel the disbelieving stares. Shepard spun around immediately. "If you two have a problem with my decision, you can take it up with me later. But right now, you're going to the medbay."

Miranda and Jacob looked at her confused.

"You both look like shit. It's clear the drug's wearing off."

As if it was adrenaline leaving their system, the two ops realized their hands were shaking, their breaths suddenly shallow, as the prototype's effect waned entirely. They tried saluting her.

"Salute me later, just take care of yourselves first! Dismissed!" she waved off aggressively. "Christ."

Lawson left immediately, and Taylor followed after giving her a somehow-grateful look, even after what she did.

"_**Can we have the room?**_" asked the Courier's voice.

She overcame her surprise quickly. "Dr. Mordin. Mr. Massani."

The salarian doctor nodded politely, "Of course," and the mercenary wordlessly followed. Before they left the room, Mordin said to the Courier, "Would like to converse with you, learn about your world."

"Same here," Zaeed said. "Like to hear some stories about how things work over there."

"_**You believe me?**_" He sounded surprised.

Mordin shook his head. "Not yet, but, if you're lying, have several ways of finding out. If telling the truth, conversation with salarian should prove... educational for you. Likewise for me."

"_**...When I've found my bearings, I'm sure to be eager to.**_"

Mordin smiled. "Perfect. Until then." He nodded and left with Massani. Then the room was empty but for Shepard, the stranger, and EDI.

"You want EDI to leave too?" she asked him.

"_**I'd appreciate the privacy, if you will, EDI,**_" he said. It was the most polite she'd heard him talk to someone, and it was to an AI. The guy definitely knew how to make himself come off as foreign.

"As you wish." Her avatar shut down, but Shepard didn't know if she ever actually left the room.

She crossed her arms and faced him. "What?"

"_**I... You heard what I said to the little girl. I need to find my friends. I have an idea of how to get back, it's to do with that item I told you about. But I doubt I'll be able to without help, resources. I am asking you for that help, those resources. I have enemies, and my friends, even strong as they are together... I cannot knowingly abandon them. I have to do everything I can. They're...**_"

"They're the reason you're still fighting."

He stared at her, and when he spoke his surprise was obvious. "_**Exactly. You understand.**_"

She nodded. "Yeah. That's the one thing I don't understand about your story is, if it was true. Why you aren't ecstatic to be here? It's because you got people depending on you."

He nodded deeply. "_**Then will you help me?**_"

She sighed. "Look, I'd want nothing more than to help you. I want you to be telling the truth. But the only truth _I_ know is this: I don't trust you. Not to mention, I'm in a precarious position, I can't just spend resources willy-nilly, especially on an enemy."

"_**I'm not an–**_"

"I know why you did what you did, and after saving those people on Omega, I even forgive you, to some degree. But that doesn't mean my crew do. And I can't ignore their opinions on the subject. They're _my_ crew. They look up to me, and I hold a responsibility to them. My duty? I follow it for them. You have _your_ friends. My friends? Most of them are my former crew members."

He nodded slowly. "_**Understand.**_"

She sighed again. "Look, I can't help you for nothing. But I can help you for something. You're part of the crew now, unofficial and ostracized as you stand right about now. But that can change." She eyed him keenly. "I've seen you in action. Prove to me I can trust you, both on your story and to have my back on the field. You've got two days. Until then, I'm sorry to say that you're on your own. You'll get your items back tonight, every single one, including your device – I'll see to it myself, matter of fact. I trust the Illusive Man as much as I can touch him, so it doesn't matter much to me what he says. Convince me, however you can, that you can be trusted, and I'll make you an active field op as part of my mission. That'll give you an opportunity to prove yourself to everyone else. Do that, I'll help you in any and every way that I can."

The Courier stood silent, but nodded approvingly. "_**What mission is that, precisely?**_"

"You'll be debriefed as soon as you're part of it."

"_**Fair enough. Know, though, that depending on the mission, I might refuse. I'm not a mercenary.**_"

Jane shrugged. "Neither am I."

He hummed as a response. "_**Very well.**_"

"So. That a good enough offer for you?"

"_**More than fair's my thinking.**_"

She couldn't help but smile, in spite of her distrust and confusion. "I'm glad you can appreciate that." Shepard opened her omni-tool. "Well, now that we're done here, I'll tell EDI to help you find whatever quarters are available, as long as they're not occupied."

He bowed his head like he did before, and left the room.

And Shepard was alone.

"Joker?"

"Yes, Commander?" She was relieved in some way that his voice didn't sound furious. She expected him to be more than a little vexed that the man who put bruises on Doc Chakwas was invited onto the ship.

"Get us to the Citadel," she commanded. "We need to bring this guy to Anderson."

"Anderson? You got it," Joker answered, despite his confusion. "By the way, you've got a guest coming your way."

"Alright. Thanks." She leaned against the table, sighed, and sniffed the air, grumbled, "_Smell like shit._" God. Her mind was a mess, the world didn't make sense, and she wanted to sleep. But underneath her skin was buzzing.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. T–_

"No kidding," said a voice. "I could smell you from the med-bay."

She spun around with a quiet gasp, and a wide grin split her face. "Garrus! You're up?!"

He entered the room with air so light the entire day's weight lifted from her mind. "No need to sound so surprised Shepard. Hey, no one would give me a mirror. How bad is?– _OHP!_" he blurted as she jumped at him with a wide embrace.

"You're up!" she laughed out, and laughed, and kept laughing, until tears of joy started to sting her eyes. "You lizard prick!"

"_You know,_" Garrus strained out, his own arms around her, "_I expected kinder words after taking a rocket for you._"

She let go and her feet hit the ground. "Goddamn it's good to see you, Vakarian," Jane said, wiping her eyes.

His turian face showed surprise, then became mocking."Huh. Guess it can't be that bad, then."

She mock-frowned. "What, the scar? _Pfft_. Just slap some face-paint on, I'd say you finally look fuckable. To turians at least."

He laughed, and she couldn't keep from doing the same – but they both stopped when a wince of pain flashed across his countenance. "Oh, don't make me laugh. Dammit, my face is barely holding together as it is."

She shrugged sheepisly, but she couldn't stop smiling no matter how much it hurt. "Sorry."

"No need." His avian aspect wrought into a serious expression, one of concern. "Frankly, I'm more worried about you. Cerberus, Shepard?"

Jane sighed, but didn't look away. "Yeah..."

Garrus interrupted his stare with a shrug. "What does it matter? I trust you to know what you're doing. But I'd like an explanation all the same."

Her smile widened. She reveled in the trust. This is what she had been missing. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"Sure thing. You, uh..." He looked behind himself furtively. "Wanna tell me what the deal is with tall, dark, and not-so-handsome while you're at it?"

She snorted at the nomenclature. "I barely know what to think, myself. I'll tell you what he told me, but, later–"

" –Later," they said as one, "Yeah. Alright. Well, I'm fit for duty whenever you need me, Shepard. I'll settle in and see what I can do with the forward batteries."

She scoffed, much to his confusion. "Forward batteries? Get the fuck out of here, bird-brain. C'mon, we're going to my room," she chuckled incredulously as she pushed him along.

Garrus' feet pattered rapidly on the floor. "As much as I appreciate you calling me 'finally fuckable', I'm not sure this is appropriate between an officer and a subordinate," he said with a laughing voice.

"Tough shit, I'm molesting you," she mocked. "Come on, in the elevator, we're gonna have us some sexual harrassment." They both ignored the wide-eyed looks the crew gave them. "A woman has needs, Vakarian, needs only a turian can fulfill. Get to it!"

He allowed himself to be pushed in, and she punched the button to her quarters. When the door shut, they both burst out into laughter. That elevator ride was probably the funniest ride she'd had in a long time (no pun intended).

"Did you see the look that girl gave you?" Garrus managed out with shaking shoulders and mandibles.

When she finally caught her breath, she said, "Yeoman Kelly Chambers," through grinning lips. "Oh god, my sides hurt." She hunched over. "I don't know how many actually agree with Cerberus on the xenophobia front, but that probably skewed some views on the Hero of Humanity."

Garrus chuckled at that. "Lotta new faces, huh? Saw more than a couple in the medbay along with me."

"You can thank tall, dark, and not-so-handsome for that." Just saying that made her chuckle uncontrollably.

Garrus was more focused on what she said, his mandibles clicking in surprise. "Really? So what's he still doing on the ship?"

"_Later!_" she reminded sternly. "Come on, we're going to relax."

"Now you're just torturing me. See, you didn't have to tell me he was responsible, but you did, and now my imagination's running wild."

She held up her hands in surrender. "You caught me." Her hands fell down, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, in spite of all the new faces it's been pretty empty the past few days."

She looked at him earnestly. "It's good to see you up and about again."

"Likewise, Shepard. It's been too long."

"So... You wanna talk about what happened on Omega?"

Garrus' smile disappeared. He gave her a look.

"Later? Alright, later."

Not allowing even a second of painful remembrance, the door of the elevator opened. "Come on, let's make up for lost time."

Remembering his best friend was alive and well, Garrus couldn't help himself grinning. "Okay, you're _really_ making it sound like we're about to have sex, so what's really going on, Shepard?"

She waved him along into her room. "We're just hanging out. Then we'll watch a vid or something. A classic." God knows they both needed the distraction. She didn't know what was wrong with Garrus, but tonight was about relaxing and forgetting - by god, they needed it.

"Ugh, Lord of the Rings again?" He tried to sound displeased.

She gave him a deadpan look of knowing as she sat down on her new, lavishly comfy couch. "Oh, don't pretend you didn't love every second of those movies." Garrus turned out to have a surprising affinity for the human idea of fantasy. Or Tolkien's idea of fantasy, at the least. "No, we're watching another human classic."

Unlike his previous displeasure, his disappointment was genuine. "Oh. Which one?" He sat down on the other end of the couch. The leather creaked under him.

"I don't know, haven't decided yet. We'll watch one when I find one. Maybe _Princess Bride_. Hey, you find any good pizza joints on Omega?"

Garrus smiled a turian smile. "There's one not far from docks. They make some excellent dextro pizza."

In spite of everything that had happened and all she had learned, her day ended with a forgetful smile on her lips.

* * *

**What it do, folks! Been a while!**

**Can't say the wait's not been worth it for me - psychology turned out to be a hell of a lot more fun than even I expected. Now that summer's here, I got enough time to finish the chapter. As for how my schedule (loose as the term is) looks from now on, I will refer to my profile.**

**Not much happened in terms of narrative - but as they say, quality over quantity. Might not have been much that happened, but what happened was important: the ME crew are finally starting to realize what just landed on their front porch. They don't know _who_ exactly, but they'll find that out soon enough.**

**Thank you to everyone who supports the story with kind words. ****Please let me know your thoughts on the writing and constructive criticism for the narrative - it's the only thing I thrive from and improve upon.**

**Next chapter: the Courier gets his bearings, and tries to live on a ship that hates him. Shepard tries to figure out what to do with him, and if she can trust him. The Citadel is sure to be a surprise to him, isn't it?**


	10. No more doubts, just more questions

**This chapter: doubts are quashed, the ME crew realize what's landed in their laps (to some extent), and the Courier scratches the surface of this new world.**

**Enjoy!**

**P.S.: Happy Birthday, Mr. House!**

* * *

The water was cool on her face, and washed away any morning exhaustion along with grease Jane still felt bearing down on her like a ball-and-chain.

When she opened her eyes, there was no reflection to greet her –her new mirror was still leaning against her bedside table. The shattered one still hung in several pieces from her bathroom wall.

She dried her face with a towel, and without bothering to fix her bed-head pulled on a pair of cargo-pants and zipped on an N7 hoodie, before taking the elevator down to the second level.

At the CIC, she checked her mail.

"Good morning, Commander."

She looked to her left to see Kelly Chamber smiling kindly.

"Morning, Yeoman." She looked back to the screen.

"Please, call me Kelly."

Nothing important in the mail. Nothing from Anderson.

Had he even heard?

"Only if you agree to call me Shepard."

The woman's mirth was lively. "As you wish, Shepard."

When she finished sifting through them, Jane sighed, shut the console off, and strode up the Commander's Podium.

The Galaxy Map expanded, and showed they were less than an hour away from the Relay.

That was good. Priority is getting her guest to Anderson, maybe to the Council, if she felt it necessary.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet, Kelly?"

Surprised by the question, Chambers took a moment before answering. "Uh, no. I was just about to."

Shepard was already descending the podium. "Come on, let's grab some chow together."

She seemed delighted by the offer. "I'd love to, Commander."

When they arrived at the mess, there were only a few of people present, eating and chatting. To be fair, Shepard woke up a bit later than usual – by the time she found a movie for her and Garrus to watch, the Princess Bride ended up lasting past her usual bedtime.

Joker was the one among the seated of her crew to spot her. "Good morning, Commander." The rest noticed her and echoed.

"Morning." She answered with a soft smile as she filled her tray with breakfast, and waited for Kelly to do the same.

"Thanks," she said to Hadley, whose arm was still in its sling, when he offered her a spot. It felt empty, so she glanced around in her seat. "Where's Vakarian?"

He was usually up by this time.

"In'th' ba'ery," Donnelly answered, thick-accented and full-mouthed.

That earned him a smack in the back of his head by Daniels. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

After shooting her an annoyed, pained look, Donnelly turned to Jane, swallowed, and smiled at her. "Why do you ask? Eager to sexually harass him again?"

"Kenneth!" Gabby yelled, but Shepard didn't mind the jokes.

"Oh, I'm insatiable, Donnelly," she grinned.

Laughter and chuckles sounded from the table.

Despite her initial suspicions, pretty much every crewmember turned out to be a decent person, putting their lives on the line for humanity even if it meant joining Cerberus. The latter fact didn't exacerbate the xenophobia she associated with Cerberus by any means.

"So what's he doing in the battery?" she asked. "He better not be working already." She hated the thought, because he only ever obsessed over work when he was trying to take his mind off something.

Daniels shrugged. "You'd have to ask him, Commander."

"I will."

Shepard stood up and made her way there.

Of course, she found Garrus staring down at the console screen.

"Good morning," she called to get his attention.

He turned around with a smile that felt empty. "Morning, Shepard."

"You eaten breakfast yet?"

"No, I'll grab a bite soon, don't worry."

Son of a bitch already knew she was worried, so what the fuck? "Why not now?" She frowned. "The crew haven't been giving you a hard time, have they?"

He was quick to defuse the suspicion. "No, nothing of the sort. I think being part of the group that took down Saren scored me some points." She smiled.

Those were the days.

"Everyone I talk to is polite, anyway," he finished.

"Well, it's only right you reciprocate. Come on."

He opened his mandibles to protest, "I'd rather–"

"Sooner or later we're going to have to rely on them, both on and off the field. Come on, fraternize a little, will ya?" She clapped him on the shoulder with a smile. "I'll make sure you don't scare them away, don't worry. I know there's a big heart underneath the ugly, monstrous facade."

"How supportive of you, Shepard," Garrus remarked dryly.

She shrugged. What can she say? "Besides, it'll take your mind off things just as well as calibrating. Except there's less of a risk of your mind wandering."

He looked skeptical. "Is there really, though?"

"Considering the current topic of conversation rampant on this ship? Absolutely."

Garrus couldn't refute that. "Fair enough."

Grinning again, she followed Garrus out of the Battery and sat down at the mess.

When the turian approached with a full tray, Jacob, who finally recovered from his injuries and the prototype drug's disheveling effects, scootched over, and Garrus took the seat in front of her.

"Thanks," he said, hesitantly.

"No problem," Taylor reassured.

Garrus was telling the truth, the crew were polite, enough for each to introduce themselves to the turian and make small-talk. But, of course, the conversation inevitably ended up steered towards their guest down in Engineering.

"So," started Jacob, "has he said anything yet, Commander?"

Shepard swallowed her food, and stared. "Only EDI's talked to him, as far as I'm aware."

On her orders, of course. She wanted to know what he was actively doing, not because she distrusted him, but rather to get an idea of his behavior (though distrust him she did, to an extent).

And so far, all he had been doing was studying human history, with a focus on Earth, and the post-war era onward.

She hadn't let anyone else in on the little trivia of their guest's reading history, but too many things were adding up in her guest's story for her to keep quiet about it forever.

"Still?!" Joker's exasperated voice drowned out anyone else's response, if they intended one. "The most interesting guy on this ship just _had_ to be a recluse, didn't he?"

"He's busy, Joker. I gave him a task. Before the day's done, he's going to convince me in any way that he can to let him stay. And explain just how he got here, if he can."

Joker seemed confused. "How's he gonna do that? I mean, coming from a different reality sounds like something that's hard to prove, right?"

"Besides his behavior and possessions all but proving his story? I don't know. I'm just telling you what he told me he'd do, so I imagine he's got something concrete for show-and-tell."

"If he turns out not only to be telling the truth but to also have tangible explainations," EDI began, "the resulting impact will be staggering. New technological advances related to the multiverse theory are sure to begin development, and especially new theoretical fields."

All Shepard forced herself to be worried about now was to make sure this information wasn't monopolized by Cerberus of all people. And she trusted no one like she Anderson to handle this the best way for the entire galaxy.

"Wait," Garrus began. "I still don't understand. This guy's from a world where Earth experienced a nuclear holocaust, like Tuchanka did?"

Shepard nodded.

"Huh..." Garrus looked thoughtful.

_Told you this'd take your mind off things._

She wondered: how did this all seem from an outside perspective like a turian's. Probably the same as a human's – insane.

"I still can't believe it." Gabby shook her head.

Like he's been doing the past couple of days, Donnelly started rubbing it in. "I _told_ you! I knew it! I knew he was from another universe!"

The table groaned, except for an impassive, observant Garrus, and Shepard who stared scoldingly and shook her head.

"Will you shut up about that, already?" Hadley practically begged. "I'm starting to take painkillers because of you instead of this arm, I swear to god!"

"Enough," Shepard's voice boomed out. "Give it a rest, you've all milked the subject dry."

"Can you blame us?" Kelly said mildly.

"I don't blame you. I talk about it too. But it's a waste of time, because all we can do for now is wait. Discussing whether or not he's telling the truth any further until the end of the day is moot."

There was a silence.

Until Kenneth broke it. "But I was right, wasn't I?"

And that was it, the fucked up part. No one could say he was wrong with any form of certainty.

"He never comes up here for breakfast," Gabby said, in a low voice like she was telling a ghost story.

"No one's seen his face, or seen him eat," Ken added in a similar voice. "Like he doesn't need to."

She stared at the two engineers. "Or he's just got food on him," Shepard offered. "Nuclear holocaust – scarce food. Guy's liable to keep some on him."

"Oh," they both said. She couldn't help chuckle at their deflation.

EDI's voice suddenly filled the room. "I can confirm that he keeps food on his person."

"See?" said Hawthorne. "Guy's not a boogeyman, he's a human, like us." He halted. "Well, not exactly like us."

Something occurred to Jane. "Hey EDI?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"What kind of food does he have?"

"I do not know. He asks for privacy whenever he eats."

"So you don't look when he thinks you're not there?"

There was a pause.

"He asked for privacy, Commander."

"Wow," Joker said. "You are the most useless spy I've ever met."

"My task is not espionage, Mr. Moreau. I simply deemed transparency and honesty ancillary to the goal of improving diplomatic relations with the courier."

"You deemed correctly," Shepard said. "He's been compliant so far. There's no reason to punish that by spying on the man."

Jacob shook his head. "This guy's broken the bones of almost every person on this ship, and instead of coming out of his cave it's the A.I. he starts buddying up to. What kind of guy is this?" It was a rhetorical question by this point, it's been asked so goddamn much.

"I would not say he is 'buddying up' to me, Operative Taylor. I am simply the only part of the crew that has been shown willing to converse with the Courier. Besides the initial incidence of violence, which can be explained as simply being a misunderstanding aggravated by emotional factors, there is nothing to his behavior that would suggest he harbors vestigial hostility toward the Normandy's crew or Cerberus in any capacity. In fact, outside of his brutality in combat, he has displayed only cerebral personality traits, mostly in his analysis of history."

Jacob frowned. "Analysis? Of what?"

"He's been reading up on human history," Shepard revealed abruptly - might as well, with the cat half-way out of the bag. "I think he's trying to find out where our two separate histories diverge."

The table became silent.

"Holy shit," said Joker.

"Holy shit's right," Garrus muttered, intrigued.

The rest of the table were stunned.

"Indeed," EDI continued. "He was surprised by our knowledge of Latin, so it's safe to say our similarities extend at least up until the rise of the Roman Empire. To return to the subject of the courier, he displays not only cerebral behavior in his analysis, but also an interest in the subject of history. The morse-code message his emergency transponder transmitted reinforces this notion. Whether it is cultural or personal, I cannot say."

Around her, the crew discussed EDI's words, with occasional input from the A.I. herself.

Shepard didn't waste any breath on it, and instead cleared her tray.

When she finished her breakfast, she stood up, and said, "Alright. Joker, I want us docked in the Citadel before 1000 hours."

"I'm guessing that means military time and not that I can wait 999 hours?"

She turned to Vakarian without a response. "Garrus, I want you on the ground with me."

"You got it Shepard."

"You bringing anyone else?" Jacob asked.

"Yeah, our guest." That surprised them all. "Anderson needs to know about him. This is a situation that warrants galactic attention."

Garrus nodded, Joker shrugged, and, surprisingly, Jacob didn't disagree. "Good idea. Just hope it's not premature."

She understood his concern, but she knew something no one else but her and Karin did. "Skepticism can only last so long in the face of overwhelming odds. Everything circumstantial that adds to his credibility can't have been a coincidence. If someone fabricated these circumstances, there'd have been a trace. Something. Anything."

"But there's not," Taylor finished. In a gesture of concession, he slowly nodded. "Yeah... Still, it's hard to process."

"I know." She turned around, and made her way to the elevator. "EDI, tell our guest to meet me in the cockpit."

"As you wish, Shepard."

* * *

"Courier."

The voice was robotically serene, but he jumped at it nonetheless, ripped from his reading.

"My intention was not to startle," the A.I. said.

"_**Don't worry about it. Got narrow-sighted from the reading.**_" It was hard not to, to read about an Earth where cruel bombs were never bathed the world in fire.

"I see. Have you found anything of interest?"

"**_Believe I have,_**" he admitted.

Threw down the datapad on the crate he was using for a table, in the ramshackle quarters he had made for himself down here in the engineering deck. He'd hear the hum of the ship's engine, and the two engineers Kenneth and "Gabby" talking about him, and speculating as to the wisdom of Shepard's choice to let him stay, but that was about the limit of his interaction with the rest of the Normandy. Other than that, all he had been doing was reading, and the effort was far from fruitless.

But that would have to wait.

"_**How can I help you, EDI?**_"

"Commander Shepard has asked for your presence in the cockpit."

He grunted affirmatively, stood up, slipped his coat on. "_**Can you tell me why?**_"

"We are soon arriving at the Citadel, and she wants you on the ground with her. She will debrief you on the purpose of your company."

Barely concealing the sudden onset of excitement, the Courier nodded. This meant he was going to see the Citadel he'd read about.

"_**Thank you, EDI,**_" he said, forced his voice to be calm.

"You are welcome, Courier."

Eagerly, looped his belt round his waist, from it hung his revolvers, and slung his Medicine Stick onto his shoulder, before he shouldered past the dust-matted cloak of his quarters. Metal clacked quietly under his soft but hobnailed steps.

Had studied the ship's layout on his Pip-Boy's map, wasn't too hard making his way to the elevator. When he got to the second level, immediately eyes turned on him. Fear, unease in them.

Ignored it, strode his path, and before long the Courier was walking the hallway he fist-fought Shepard in, and in front of him there she stood, arms crossed and facing away from him.

Beside her, the first alien he had ever encountered.

_Does he remember me?_ he wondered, before halting to a stop behind her.

She didn't seem to notice him, so patiently he stood silent, waiting for her conversation to end with Garrus.

Eventually, she must've felt his gaze, glanced over her shoulder.

"_GOOD_– lord!" she jumped, before closing her eyes and putting a hand on her chest, groaning in frustration. "Ooooh, god-damn it! You scared the shit out of me!"

To the Courier's surprise, Garrus laughed at her, to which she lightly punched his shoulder. Their friendliness threw him for a curt loop.

"_**...Apologies?**_" he said, uncertainly.

"Just don't do that again," she said.

"**_..._**_**Do what?**_"

"What you did, just now," she gestured vaguely, like it was any kind of answer.

The Courier confusedly looked behind where he came from, and back to Shepard.

"_**Walk up to you?**_"

Garrus laughed again at that. "You scare easily, Shepard," the turian mocked.

"Said the alien with superior hearing," Shepard retorted as she fought a smile. Didn't change that her eyes were familiarly pained.

Of a sudden, she was wearing white, ragged robes again, and holding a crook of twisted metal.

The Courier blinked the image away and saw her stood looking at him, severe look on her face. "What's your name?"

That gave him pause. "_**Sorry?**_"

"A name. You _do_ have one, right?"

"_**...It's personal.**_"

"Your name is Personal?"

He made an unseen frown. "_**Clever.**_"

She sent him a seen smirk. "Thanks."

He sighed. "_**It's **_**deeply**_** personal. Not many people know it. I'd keep it that way.**_"

"Fair enough. So what do we call you?"

"_**Courier's**** good.**_" He paused, gave it thought. "_**Or Courier Six. Your choice.**_"

That piqued Shepard's interest. "Why Courier Six?" Her eyes searched him, made his skin burn cold.

"_**Long story. History. Maybe I'll tell it one day.**_"

After a moment, the Commander nodded. "Courier it is. It's what EDI's been calling you anyway, so."

"_**Expect she's been observing me. Tell you anything interesting?**_"

He doubted she'd reveal if she saw anything, but he could act like he wasn't making sure not a damn thing about him could be gleaned from his behavior.

"Only that you've been reading up on history a lot. Mostly after the Second World War." She stared at his nod. "You found something, didn't you?"

He couldn't tell if she guessed or read him somehow. "_**Believe I know where your history changed from mine.**_"

"That's good. Any word on that device you talked about?"

"_**Nothing new I already couldn't already tell you, which is already vital. However, I happened to discovered something else as well. Concrete, undeniable.**_"

She actually seemed surprised.

"So you have actual proof for your story?" Garrus asked skeptically.

"_**My reality,**_" He corrected. "_**I do. It's something that would otherwise be inexplicable. Don't know what it means, only what it is. To find out **_**what,**_** I need resources.**_" He looked at Shepard. "_**Commander Shepard, I ask you hold a meeting. Everyone essential in your team needs to be briefed on what I discovered.**_"

Her eyes watched him cautiously yet, but she nodded. "Okay."

"_**Gratitude.**_"

"It'll be an opportunity to brief you on our mission, too. Now look sharp. In a few minutes we'll be going through the relay to the Citadel."

"Courier," EDI said, and he looked up to where the voice came from. "I believe you have only read about the relays, but you haven't seen one."

He grunted affirmatively.

"So you don't know what a relay looks like, huh?" Shepard's voice pulled his head downward.

"_**Nor the Citadel.**_"

She smiled at that, and he didn't know if it was dangerous. "Well, you're about to visit it on the ground, with me and bird-brain here."

That raised his eyebrows, and not because of her nickname for the turian.

He was going to walk the Citadel.

"Are you excited?"

Would it be a mistake to reveal that he was?

Courier couldn't see how, so he nodded. "_**As anxious as I am eager.**_" He was relieved he managed to hide how child-like his voice almost became.

With the smile still on her lips, she turned around. "Joker, how long?"

"Coming up to the relay right now, Commander," the pilot said.

She glanced over her shoulder while gesturing to the cockpit. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Did so, carefully, slid past Shepard, ready for any sign of danger, and in its absence strode into the cockpit. He stopped still beside the pilot's seat, and craned his head up.

Under his mask, his eyes widened, and all breath left him, that he couldn't even whisper in awe.

The dark of space was hidden behind the behemoth of a structure before him – a historical epic even Homeros's would pale before.

There loomed a monumental, metal structure, its heart a pulsating core of blue, whorling energy, embraced within a massive gyroscope spinning, itself encapsulated between two metal arms curving around it and jabbing forward like spears somewhere deep into space where he could not see.

His lungs empty, he quickly, quietly gasped in a breath of air, and could finally voice his awe. "_**Holy shit...**_"

"Stunning piece of work, huh?" Suddenly, Shepard was there, and returned the favor by startling him.

He looked back to the relay, and was no less awed this time. **_"How old is it?"_**

"Billions of years old."

And he was blessed to have seen it with his own eyes. Was the hand of a demiurge that had wrought it? the Courier wondered.

"_**Who made it?**_" he asked.

When Shepard spoke this time, her voice was grave. "The Reapers."

That name, though he had never heard it before, stilled any excitement in his chest and froze the blood in his vein. He didn't know why, but felt like an instinctive sort of fear, the kind ingrained into his DNA, like the fear of the unknown was.

_What's wrong with me? _

He forced himself with every fiber of his will of the petrification, turned around.

Her aspect was grim. "Trust me, you're going to hear about them sooner or later." She gestured behind him. "For now, enjoy it."

The Courier did so, and started when he saw the relay's blue heart reach out a tendril and touch the ship. **_"What-"_**

Suddenly, they were flung into the darkness, and he jumped back as the outside suddenly blew up in a blue warp of light, "_**WOAH! What's happening!?**_"

There was a noise behind him, and he realized Garrus was laughing.

"Easy," said another voice, kinder than he deserved. Looking at Shepard, he saw that it was native to her, because she caught herself, had to harden her visage like steel.

_She doesn't trust me yet,_ he realized.

Couldn't blame her. Gave her a grateful nod anyway, and looked back through the cockpit window with composure, composure which didn't last long, as the Normandy slowed down, and parted the veil of blue-and-purple astral dust.

A gargantuan, penta-armed structure, greater than even the relay was, floated in the distance. Each of the arms were vast, wide pillars of metal, and orange cracks of lights glowed like embers seeping out between coals along the broad inner surfaces. They were connected at their ends by a single, massive circle.

Every dot of light on the surface was a collection of innumerable buildings aglow with life.

Then it struck him like a Bighorner's charge.

All the Courier had seen of this world was space-station that was too much like old Freeside, and after that had been enclosed off in the Normandy, separated from anything but scripture and history in his makeshift den.

But now he was staring at what could have been – _should_, have been, what he, his parents, and their parents should have been born to, what Boone, Cass, Arcade and... and Veronica should have known. What Raul and Lily should have never lost.

What he was fighting to not only reclaim, but deserve, for humanity. The reason humanity had to be better.

Civilization. Unblemished by the unseen poison, and all the horrors it had wrought on Earth and its lives.

Courier's hand reached up, gripped the necklace. Heart yearning. _I wish you could see this,_ he said to her.

"You alright?" came Garrus' voice, of all the voices, and it more than surprised him, it shocked him.

Though the Blue Suns had shown the Courier cruelty ran deeply in aliens too, those two words gave him the hope that kindness did too.

"_**I will be. Thanks.**_" Didn't take long before he forgot his duty, his longing, and a childish excitement filled him again.

The Normandy glid quickly, smoothly onto the structure. "We're here," the pilot said, in a voice that told the Courier he wasn't liked much. Didn't care – he was in the Citadel!

When its arms began to pass behind their view, the Courier pivoted around. "_**What room has a better view?**_"

"The observation deck–"

He was running, heart racing almost as fast as his feet.

"Hey!" her voice yelled after him. "Wait up!"

He didn't, of course – couldn't, legs wouldn't stop even if he wanted them to, and he didn't want them to, until he was in the observation deck, faced with a sealed window.

"_**EDI.**_"

She understood immediately, and the bulkhead rose to reveal the length of a Citadel arm.

Feet carried him forward, gauntleted hand laid flat against the window. Close as he could, he neared the window, and gazed the unending stream of buildings, some that would tower above the Lucky 38 as if it was nothing, and others as small as Mick and Ralph's.

A vast, infinite city.

The Normandy dove down, and the sleek and sharp skyscrapers that he didn't know were below him closer sprouted up into his view suddenly like giant metal swords.

The door behind him opened and he heard a pair of footsteps rush in that slowed down. "Well?"

He turned away from the window, and found her face unreadable.

"What do you think?"

"_**Lot of things. I'm...**_" He didn't know the words for it, had never felt this whirl inside.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'overwhelmed'."

He nodded in agreement. That was the word.

"_**Apologies. Wasn't professional of me to run off like that.**_" Not a great impression for someone who wanted to join her mission as a warrior.

And still she surprised him when she waved it off. "Oh, there are far worse things you can be than unprofessional. I just need to know that you can follow orders."

"_**I can,**_" he said, no hesitation.

"Then we're set. Don't go running off when we land. I'm sorry to put a leash on you like that, but looking the way you do–"

He understood. "_**Authorities might grow paranoid.**_"

Shepard shrugged vaguely. "Something like that, yeah. Come on, let's get to the docks."

* * *

Garrus thought there was never a sorer thumb sticking out on the surface of the Citadel like this guy.

The way he took his seat inside the skycar was like he was an explorer entering a long-lost tomb, and when took off, he stared out the window like it was the first time he had ever flown.

When they went on foot, people looked at him almost as much as he looked at them. The non-humans caught his attention the most, especially when they were hanging out with humans. The grass surprised him, the waters and their fountains that poured them out. Whenever a skycar happened to pass above them – that's to say, about every fifteen seconds – he'd jump, and stare upward at the vehicle until it passed.

Nevermind that he was almost as tall when postured relaxedly as Garrus was when he was standing up straight – the guy was alien in his appearance and behavior alone, nevermind where he supposedly came from.

When they walked the Upper Wards, the Courier (the hell kind of name was that, anyway? This guy, a _mailman_?) took one glance outside, and ran so suddenly to Shepard Garrus almost pulled a gun on him, but the Courier simply tapped her on the shoulder.

Shepard, mother hen that she is, turned around with an automatic, "What's the matter?"

He pointed at the Destiny Ascension passing them by in a way that Garrus could imagine his unmoving mask's eyes widening.

"What, the _Destiny Ascension_?"

"_**What is it?**_"

"A ship," she said, surprised.

His finger fell to his side. Stared at it unerringly. "_**That's a ship?**_"

"Yeah, Asari Dreadnought. You're looking at the flagship of the Citadel Fleet." Garrus followed her to the edge of the platform, and grabbed the rails. Eventually, the Courier joined them, his dirty, dusty gauntlet too-gingerly grasping the impeccably clean rails.

"That right there houses almost ten-thousand crew-members," Shepard said, giving her own little tour. Her way of making the new guy feel a bit more at home, Garrus knew. "Four times bigger than the biggest human ship."

_Might as well help her out,_ he shrugged mentally. "Destiny Ascension's got almost as much firepower alone as the rest of the Asari's fleet combined. Not a humble boast, I can tell you that much."

The Courier was silent. Garrus couldn't tell if he was stunned or what.

Then, the Courier gave a scoff. "_**Sounds like...**_"

"Like what?" Shepard asked.

"_**...Stories. Mythological. Like the minotaur, or the **_**Argo**_**. That's a legend in the sky in front of me.**_" Garrus couldn't tell if he was amazed or somber.

"Wanna hear something?" he asked.

The Courier looked to him surprised.

"The Destiny Ascension still exists because two years ago, Shepard saved it."

Taken aback, the Courier's head snapped to Shepard at his other flank.

She kept staring ahead in silence, blushing.

Oh, he knew she hated this kind of attention. It's why he sent it her way.

_Make the crew think I'm your sex-slave, will you?_ He had to stop a devious cackle from escaping him.

She cleared her throat. "It's a long story," was all she said, and swallowed down her flush.

Garrus grinned at her behind the Courier.

"_**Another time, then,**_" the Courier said patiently, understandingly. "_**Won't hold us up any longer. Grateful you humored me.**_"

"Don't mention it." Jane pushed herself off the rails. "Come on, let's go."

As they walked, Shepard scratched the back of her head with her middle-finger towards the turian.

He smiled, but couldn't keep it up. He knew Shepard hadn't stopped for the Courier's sake. At least, not only because of that.

She was anxious about her destination.

And eventually, they arrived at it, the presidium. Outside the embassies.

"You go ahead, Shepard," Garrus said, stopping the Courier with a hand. He looked between them confusedly.

Shepard looked surprised only for a moment, but she realized he understood all this time.

"Alright. I'll let you know when to come up," she told them both. "Garrus, you can guide the Courier to the Councilor's office."

"You got it," his words said. _Now go_, his eyes finished.

She nodded, and left them to ascend the steps.

Garrus tapped his shoulder, "Come on," and led him away to the presidium's gardens.

* * *

"_Councillor David Anderson_" read the plate next to the door.

Her head was swimming as she stared at it. Almost feverish. Her heart raced and her breath was shallow.

So before she got worse, Jane opened the door, and stepped into... an empty room.

So it seemed, before a voice so familiar it made her heart soar spoke.

"Udina, any word on the rumors?"

He stepped out into the room, staring down with knit eyebrows at a datapad. Not seeing her.

Jesus.

The last two years hadn't been kind to him.

His eyes were so sad.

"Udina?" His eyes glanced up– before doing a double take, and his entire being froze, breath and eyes and all.

Shepard froze too, at first. Then she somehow managed to smile.

"Hey, Anderson." Her voice quavered when she said it, and the smile was uneasy.

"_God..._" His lips barely seemed to move as he whispered.

She stood there like a kid again in his office, not knowing what to do with her hands or what to say, with this unrelenting urge to do _something_.

The moment he dropped the datapad and surged forward, Jane just knew, and she almost let out a sob as she desperately slammed into his embrace.

Everything almost came crashing down when she felt his arms around her. Jane blinked away her welling tears. "Been a while, old man," she trembled out. Her eyes stung and her vision blurred, but she couldn't stop smiling.

"I heard the rumors," Anderson said. His voice was somehow steady, strong, but his embrace tightened frantically around her anyway. "Chakwas called me, but she wasn't there when I answered. I didn't know if I could believe it. I didn't want to do that to myself, I couldn't–"

"It's alright," she said, and meant it. "I know. I know."

It took them both a long time to let go. When she backed away, Shepard wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and smiled at Anderson, who was still wide-eyed but managed to smile back. His voice was joyous. "I can't believe you're alive. Cerberus did it."

Instantly, her smile fell, as doubts crept into her mind. "How do you know it's me? And not some clone, or mind-controlled corpse." It sounded so stupid to say it out loud.

"Kiddo," he said like he was teaching her how things worked again, and she almost burst into tears anew, "that has to be the biggest fool question I've ever heard come out of your mouth. Outside of 'You Anderson?''"

She laughed tearfully. When David patted her cheek, she finally felt okay for once. Those two years she lost were a distant echo. She was alive, and Anderson was here. Garrus was just outside.

Everything was going to be alright.

But then he looked thoughtful, and his smile eventually fell. "What's wrong?" she immediately asked.

"I'm sorry, Shepard." He sighed. "I haven't visited John since you died."

She was too surprised to say anything at first.

"...What?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes. "How could I?" He opened his mouth to continue, but–

"Stop." She wasn't having it.

He finally looked up at her face in his surprise. Her anger was obvious in her scowl.

"Don't even start with that shit, you hear me? What happened to me wasn't your fault."

"I promised–"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," she interrupted, pulling him back into a hug. "We both know that's bullshit," she nearly yelled into his shoulder. "He might not be around anymore to pull your head out of your ass, but don't think I won't kick it six ways from Sunday you keep pissing me off." The threat lost its impact when her voice trembled.

His shoulders shook with a quiet laughter, that ended in a deep sigh, two years of pain leaving him with it, "I missed you, Jane."

"I missed you too." When she pulled back, she did so tiredly. "You will not believe the week I've had."

Anderson's smile lent her some spirit. "Well, you're here, so tell me all about it."

Thing is, she _finally_ felt like she could.

* * *

The Courier reached beyond the railing to cup a hand of water clearer and cleaner than anything he had ever drank before, when a burst of color materialized beside him so suddenly his reflexes pulled him back and his fists up.

"Please do not touch the water," the virtual woman said.

_Oh._ He relaxed. It was an automated messenger.

"The presidium lake is not for swimming or drinking. Please, enjoy its aesthetics, and the serenity it brings to the Citadel."

A three-taloned hand firmly grabbed his shoulder, and the Courier looked to see Garrus. "Definitely not in Kansas anymore, huh?"

"_**Never been.**_"

Garrus shrugged, "Me neither, but Shepard said that to me once. Think it's a reference. It often is with those two."

"_**Two?**_"

"Yeah, she and Joker keep referencing old vids over a hundred years old and no one but them gets it. I'm not looking forward to more of those."

He had nothing to say to that.

"_**Have water as clean as can be, and you use it for decoration.**_"

Garrus looked at him. "Yeah. I can imagine it sounds more than a little wasteful, but it's not like we don't have more than enough to waste." The turian sat down on a bench, behind which grass grew fresher and greener than even his old home's. "It isn't as stupid as it sounds."

"_**Suppose not.**_" _To you._

Instead of sitting down, the Courier only then realized how fucking stupid he must look, and looked around.

Everyone was staring at him. Stupid, drew attention to himself. Dangerous.

He sat on the bench at Garrus' urging look.

And there the Courier was, on a park bench, seated beside an alien like they were friends hanging out.

Guess it isn't as odd as he thinks.

"_**Must look like the tribe idiot.**_"

Garrus laughed a flanging laughter at that. The Courier didn't wanna imagine what it actually sounded like without the translator. "Yeah, but if anyone's got an excuse, it's you."

Was that meant to be reassurance?

"_**It's just an observation, don't feel any particular way about it. I've seemed far worse than an idiot to some people.**_"

"That doesn't surprise me." It was the way Garrus said the words, the teasing lilt, that made him turn his head toward the alien.

"_**A joke,**_" he recognized.

Couldn't tell if the mandibles' movments were a coy smile, but he imagined they were. "Yes it was. I'm guessing you have those where you're from."

A breath of amusement left him. "_**A few.**_" How human this creature was.

Still, there was a silence between them that wasn't entirely comfortable.

"_**Sound like you believe my story, way you talk.**_"

Garrus shrugged. "At some point, the coincidences become too many. Some in the crew say you planted all those items somehow to make your story more believable, but..." He shook his head. "Like I said, at some point. It's gotten to be beyond impractical. Not to mention your behavior's too fitting, almost falling into the damn water trying to cup a drink," he chuckled. Then, he faced the Courier with a more serious tone. "Besides, after today, there'll be no doubt, right?"

He nodded. "_**No doubt.**_"

The turian nodded emphatically at that as if to say, _Well, there you go._

Suddenly, two identical noises echoed as once from their omni-tools.

"That was Shepard. Time to go."

The Courier let Garrus lead him into the Embassy. "Now he might have the title of 'Councillor' in front of his name, but Anderson is a soldier, through and through. You don't strike me as a brown-noser, but just in case, don't bother. You'll just embarrass yourself."

"_**There goes my strategy.**_"

Garrus smiled... the Courier thinks. "A joke."

"_**Yes it was.**_"

A flanging chuckle.

The inside was sterile white, sleek and smooth and symmetrical all over it might have been dull if it wasn't so beautiful in its cleanliness and perfection. They arrived at a door with a name he didn't bother to read, which opened to reveal the Commander and a man dressed in a foreign, ceremonial suit.

Had a weathered sense about him, and not just from age.

"A pleasure to see you again, Captain," Garrus greeted as they entered. "Or is it Councillor now?"

"It's Anderson to you, Garrus," the man replied amicably with a warrior's baritone. "And it _is_ a pleasure, especially considering the circumstances."

The two shook hands – a sight that was still bizarre in some ways, but whose symbolism had begun to grow on the Courier, found it encouraging.

The Councillor's eyes swiveled, and found his, then rose to his helmet and the writing scratched into it. His brow wrinkled above the shelf of his wearied yet sharp, brown eyes.

"_**Councillor Anderson?**_"

His eyes came down. "I am."

The Courier stepped forward, held out a hand.

Anderson accepted it, shook it not as strongly as he must have intended. "You must be the Courier. Shepard told me about you." His voice was keen with interest.

_Ah. _"_**Explains the falter in your grip.**_"

He looked down at his hand and smiled. "Apologies."

"_**None needed.**_"

"Alright." He crossed his hands behind his back. "Commander Shepard told some interesting things. Where you're from, chiefly. And how she found you, what she found around you. Even showed me footage of your escape."

"_**A mistake.**_" The shame he felt was deserved.

"One you managed to keep from escalating, she told me." Courier was grateful of that. "She also told me you had her at gunpoint and let her go."

Looked up, but he went quiet at that.

"You can rest easy with me," The Councillor said, by way of reassurance. "I see no reason to keep a grudge. You're no enemy of the Alliance or the Citadel. In fact, if what you've said about where you're from is true, then we only have reason to foster relationships. Especially between two of, what I'm told are the same societies that underwent different paths in history."

"_**I'm relieved, if confused. What incentives? As of now, I have no way home.**_"

"That may be true, but Shepard tells me you're looking, and that you have an idea how. It could change everything. We are talking interuniversal consequences."

"_**I have more than ideas on where to start,**_" he admitted. "_**I intended to bring these ideas to Shepard's attention and that of her crew's today.**_"

"At a debriefing, yes." The Courier nodded. "Well, if we happen to open something to your world that can't be closed, or that can be opened again, it'd be smart to have an ambassador. Wouldn't you say?"

He was taken aback by that, looked to Shepard. She gave him a nod.

"_**She tell you what I was doing just before I... came here?**_"

"She did. You were fighting slavers?"

"_**Defending against their assault, yes. Should explain specifics. Important ones.**_"

"Alright. If you think it's important. Go ahead." He crossed his arms attentively.

"_**Moments before I lost unconsciousness, I had a Fat Man flying toward me.**_"

"Excuse me?"

He suppressed his embarrassment at the mistake, rectified it, calmly. "_**Named after one of the first nukes dropped in the Old World. It's a miniature nuclear bomb launched by way of a shoulder-mounted launcher. Earliest prototype was the Davy Crockett, if you've heard of it.**_"

"Wait," Shepard interrupted. "After everything that happened back in your Earth, people _still_ use nukes?"

Somberly, he nodded. "_**As I said, humanity ended up no less mature for their ultimate lesson.**_"

She stared. "Did _you_ ever use one?"

He shook his head. "_**Never have, never will. Use of weaponry that cause extensive and/or long-lasting radioactive or chemical damage to the environment has been outlawed by yours truly. Usage of the Fat-Man Launcher or any variations or equivalent thereof carries the penalty of death in New Vegas. There are no exceptions to this rule.**_"

Anderson's brow creased with confusion. "Outlawed? New Vegas?"

The Courier froze, then shrugged, "_**Ah– pay it no mind. It's irrelevant. Anyway, just before the Fat-Man bomb made contact, I pulled the trigger on a device of exceptional technology. This device is the one I intend to present during the briefing.**_"

"What does it do, exactly?"

"_**It is... a rather absurdly-named teleporting device.**_"

All three of them - Anderson, Garrus, and Shepard - looked at him like he'd grown a second head; a human brahmin.

"_**Its makers were as insane as they were ingenious.**_" The Courier took pause. "_**The name they gave it is 'transportalponder'.**_"

"You _are _shitting me," Shepard said.

"_**Trust me,**_" he said tiredly, "_**That is far from the absurdest thing the Think Tank's done. Don't ask.**_"

"The Think Tank, that's the device's creators?" Anderson asked.

"_**What they're collectively called, yes. Six Old-World scientists, preserved through... insane means. Regardless, the thing is, there were several legionaires - these slavers - that used Fat-Man launchers, and the shells that exploded seconds before the one that would have hit me interfered with electronic equipment. It's why that last one managed to scream its way past automated point-defense turrets. I believe that as I pulled the trigger, the interference must have affected the transportalponder as well. Whether it was thanks to the radiation burst or... something else, I can't say.**_"

Shepard stepped forward, and her eyes had a wide look of realization about them. "The analysis we did on the device showed unknown technology," she told Anderson. "He has other weapons than gunpowder that we classified, because we had no idea what kind they were. Cerberus almost picked them apart to analyze and reverse-engineer them."

"Jesus," Anderson said, but the Courier quickly reassured him.

"**_Shepard wasted no time giving them back. This _Cerberus _learned nothing._**"

"These weapons, unknown tech, too?" Anderson asked.

Shepard nodded. "It sounds like the Fat-Man bombs had to have been the source of the massive radiation spike. Their heat might've actually saved the Courier while he was floating out in the vacuum."

"But there's one thing you haven't explained." Anderson crossed his arms. "You said the Normandy's systems were knocked offline. The amount of radiation needed for that would've killed everyone on the ship."

This was news to the Courier. "_**There was interference on the Normandy?**_"

"Yeah," Shepard nodded, "Just a few seconds of blackout. No permanent damages, though."

"But it's a few seconds of blackout too much for radiation," Garrus pointed out. "The Normandy's state-of-the-art, and Cerberus improved it when they rebuilt the ship."

That just didn't sit right with him. "_**Sure it was the radiation that caused it? The interference?**_"

The Commander shook her head, "Not at all, but what else could it be?"

A good question.

A concerning question.

There could be an unknown.

"_**To hear Anderson tell it, couldn't have been radiation, or the crew would all be dead. Something else that interfered, maybe?**_" He pondered it. "_**If there was, I don't know about it. Will have to look into it.**_"

She nodded. Then she glanced the Councillor's way, frowned with focus. "Anderson, I hate to be premature about this, but I honestly don't believe he's lying."

He didn't act surprised. "Her word holds weight with me, son," Councillor said to the Courier, then faced Shepard. "But you understand why I can't bring this to the rest of the Citadel Council? On top of the rumors of your return, Shepard, this would only stir the pot unnecessarily. When you've got something concrete we can prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, then we can go ahead with bringing this to the rest of the galaxy."

The Commander nodded, gaze pivoted to his. "Does that sound good to you?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "**_I'm not ungrateful, just confused._** **_I don't see how this will help me._**"

"Having a Councillor for an ally might not seem consequential now, given your alliance with Cerberus, temporary as it may be," Anderson said, "but if and when people discover you or where you came from..." He left the unsaid to the imagination.

Shepard added, "Filling Anderson in on this will help us get things under control should they get out of it."

"**_I see. In that case, it sounds more than good._**"

"Alright. Then that's settled." He turned to the Commander. "However, I'm afraid I'm going to have to involve the rest of the Council in your return, Shepard. Sorry to suffer you through them, but no doubt they've already got word you're here." Anderson's omni-tool glowed, and he started tapping.

"Don't sweat it. I expected as much from the start," Shepard waved it off, and moved before three empty podiums. "Alright, open the floodgates."

The Courier wasn't surprised this time when holographic projections appeared before each one. The first a turian, the second an asari, and the third a salarian. All wore ceremonial garb.

"Commander Shepard," started the salarian. "We've heard many rumors surrounding your unexpected return. Some of them are... unsettling."

Shepard crossed her arms, unimpressed with the greeting, stayed silent.

The asari continued. "We called this meeting so you could explain your actions, Shepard. We owe you that much. After all, you saved our lives against Saren and the Geth."

Eyes widening, he looked between Shepard and the Council, then to Garrus, who acknowledged his gaze with a look, but simply turned back to the meeting.

The Courier did the same, but this time he looked at a woman who had saved the lives of a galactic council.

...Not bad.

"The Collectors are abducting entire human colonies in the Terminus Systems," Shepard said. "Worse, we have reason to think they're working for the Reapers," Shepard explained.

There was that name again, 'Reapers', froze blood and spine straight.

The turian's voice was belligerent. "The Terminus Systems are beyond our jurisdiction! Your colonists knew this when they left Citadel Space."

_Politicians..._

He scowled.

"You're missing the important part, Councillor," Anderson redirected. "The Reapers are involved."

"Ah yes, _'Reapers'_" he mocked with air quotes. "The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed that claim."

...

...

...Wait.

What?

_Dark space... Dark space... _the words rang out into the nothingness of his consciousness. Dark tendrils swarmed his vision, until dark space filled it.

Then, one by one, four glowing eyes in the sky opened.

A voice he hoped he would never hear again rumbled in his head.

"**CHILDREN OF OUR PREY, YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE COME.**"

The headache didn't come, nor did the siren blare, but the eyes stared.

The vision slowly dissipated to show Shepard gesturing aggressively toward the councillors before her.

_...Where the fuck have I gotten myself?_ he asked himself, not for the first time, but this time with dread washing over him like grime. Shepard's angry voice was muffled in its ranting.

When his blank mind finally reformed into something conscious, the Courier returned to the present.

"I kept Saren from conquering the Citadel," he heard Shepard bark. "I sacrificed human lives to save this Council! This is how you repay me?" Anderson was nodding in absent agreement, a frown marring his face.

"We are in a difficult position, Shepard," the asari explained. "You are working for Cerberus – an avowed enemy of the Council. This is treason, a capital offense."

"That is too far!" Anderson bellowed. "Shepard is a hero. I'm on this council, too, and I won't let this whitewash continue!"

Mercurially, the asari like a snake turned to assuage the tension."Maybe there is a compromise." She looked between her council co-members, tapped at her omni-tool. "Maybe not public acknowledgement, given your ties, but something to show peripheral support."

Turian councillor glanced down at his own, eyes shifted upward, then faced Shepard with acceptance. "Shepard, if you keep a low profile and restrict your operations to the Terminus Systems, the Council is willing to offer you reinstatement as a Spectre."

"Consider it a personal show of support where a public one would do more harm than good," the salarian argued.

She uncrossed her arms, stepped forward. "I accept your offer, councillors."

Courier noticed the way she said it – mocking, ever so subtly. None of them noticed.

Asari inclined her head, pleased. "Good luck with your investigation, Shepard. We hope for a quick resolution... and a quick end to your relationship with Cerberus."

"So do I," she said to that.

"Before we go," the turian halted with a hand, and looked behind her, right at the Courier and Garrus. "I recognize Vakarian, but I don't recognize him in the armor. You," he said, pointing. "Who are you?"

Shepard was looking at the Courier, arms crossed expectantly. She wanted _him_ to answer.

So he did, as fittingly as he thought one should to a politician. "_**I am none of your damned business, Councillor. You can go ahead and cut the connection.**_"

Shepard's surprise was evident, and when she turned around she shrugged with poorly veiled mirth.

The connection cut before the turian could manage anything but a growl, and the Courier liked to imagine the asari councillor did it on purpose before her hot-tempered colleague could fuck things up.

It was a funny thought.

Suddenly, to his bewildered surprise, Shepard clasped her hands together and hunched over in laughter filled with a mirth that disappeared the pain in her eyes entirely, and he saw her as he could never have imagined her. She faced him with a grin that was as infectious as it was gorgeous.

It made him wonder, how someone with such familiar pain, the pain only someone who had died could feel, could laugh as she was laughing.

_Maybe she really hates politicians,_ he joked to himself, and shrugged at her gaze. Hidden smile on his lips.

"That went better than expected," Councillor Anderson said, grinning along with her.

"You know," she managed, convulsing in staccato chuckles, "If you hadn't broken my arm in four places before, you'd have won me over right there."

"That's the way to Shepard's inner circle," Garrus jested, "Insult politicians, and you've ingratiated yourself."

"**_Will_** **_k_****_eep it in mind._**"

"You realize the Council's offer is just symbolic," Anderson said. "They won't actually do anything."

Shepard calmed down, and stood up straight. Didn't seem disappointed. "Hey, I came out of this with a Spectre reinstatement, which is more than I expected. Besides, no need to burn bridges. These dipshits need someone to pull their asses out of the fire again when the Reapers finally come. Again."

The name killed any mirth that remained in him.

"True enough," Anderson said. "Don't worry about the Council or the Alliance. I'll find some way to keep them off your back. Shouldn't be too hard as long as you keep to the Terminus Systems."

The Courier moved to speak, when the door behind him opened, and a voice came into the room.

"Anderson, we need to talk about... Shepard?"

Courier turned around, saw a gray-haired man with a caustic demeanor.

"What are you doing here?"

Curious, cocked his hips, and lazed one hand casually atop the butt of his revolver while the other hung at his side, and he watched.

Shepard frowned, "I stopped by to see how Anderson's doing, not that it's any of your business."

Anderson revealed he had brought the Council in to speak with Shepard, to which the man became outraged, warning about political shit-storms and whatnot.

"Relax, ya fuckin' grinch," Shepard exclaimed, exasperated. "It went fine. Matter of fact, they reinstated me as a Spectre. So spare us the fuckin' lecture, yeah?"

Garrus coughed to hide a chuckle. But the Courier's mind was on the way she talked just now.

Like a street kid.

"Yes..." The politician contemplated. "I could see how that arrangement works best for both sides. But you really shouldn't have taken a step like this without consulting me first, Councilor."

Anderson crossed his arms behind him. "I don't answer to you, Udina. Why don't you go to your office and think about that for a while?"

Udina's face became corrosive, it was so sour. "Of course, Councillor. Good day to you both." Turned around leave, stopped by the Courier. "Out of my way, lout," he growled.

Small man, and not only in stature.

Not worth it.

The Courier stepped aside to allow Udina to barge out stomping.

Shepard suddenly flipped the bird his direction. "_Suck it, bitch,_" she whispered - almost hissed.

Anderson actually chuckled. "Feels good after all the mess he caused us with Ilos, doesn't it?"

"Please tell me you make him clean your car," she begged exaggeratedly.

Of a sudden, his voice ended their banter. "_**You have a snake for a secretary, Councillor,**_" the Courier forewarned.

"I appreciate your concern, but that's hardly news to me, Courier." Then, for some reason, he stood rigidly, formally. "Now, if there is nothing else, I need to talk to Shepard. Alone."

"Of course. It was good seeing you again, Anderson," Garrus said.

"Likewise, Garrus." They shook hands, before the turian passed the Courier by with a "Come on."

"_**Pleasure, Councillor,**_" he said, again shaking the man's hand. "_**Gratitude for helping me out. Won't forget it.**_"

Anderson nodded, pleased. "That's good. You help Shepard out with whatever she needs, and you can consider us even."

"_**I'll keep it in mind. Goodbye.**_"

He joined Garrus outside. Couldn't hear what they said, suspect Shepard knew how sharp his hearing was.

Cautious of her. Smart of her.

That was encouraging – didn't know if it was just charm, but she seemed a decent person, if flippant. Couple that with cunning, he could see himself following her orders if he had to. Didn't like orders otherwise – found his own way of doing things was better.

The only thing he caught from the Councillor and the Commander's conversation was its end.

"_Until next time, kiddo,_" Anderson's voice said.

The words made all the sense in the world. They were family. Tribe of their own.

When Shepard came out of the room, he uncrossed his arms, stood straight, as if he had been lounging and not eavesdropping.

"Come on." She gestured outside with her head.

They followed her out of the sterile architecture of the Embassy to the artificial idyll of the park outside. The skies were somehow blue, and dotted with distant clouds.

"This debriefing," Shepard began, stopping. "I just need proof of your story, and to know what you know. That means full transparency if I'm going to help you."

He nodded.

"Good. Is it ready?"

"_**Just need to organize certain items in my possession. Arrange these,**_" He activated his omni-tool, wrote a list, not with the meaningless names of his items, but as descriptors they would understand, and sent it, "_**and I have what I need. EDI can help me with the rest.**_"

She read the list, and nodded up at him. "You got it." She looked behind him, to Garrus. "I want a word with our friend here. Go call a skycar. After we've finished talking, bring him back to the ship."

"Where're you going?"

"Shopping for the items on the crew's requisition list, then catch a ride back later. If I have to suffer through Gardner's food-poisoning any longer, the Collectors' jobs will get a hell of a lot easier." She shot him a look, and the Courier followed her a distance.

The Courier made note of that name - _'Collectors'._

"Don't tell Gardner I said that!" she yelled back as her final words to Garrus.

"You got it!"

When they stopped and she faced him, she had a look he didn't expect to see – a considerate one. "How are you holding up?"

Immediately, Doc Mitchell came to mind, and he almost smiled.

"_**Surviving,**_" he admitted.

"What'd you think of Anderson?" she asked. "He give you a good feeling?"

He stared, cocked his head. "_**What does it matter what I feel?**_"

"Because beside denying Cerberus monopoly on the knowledge of your little predicament, I actually brought you here for _your_ sake."

He had to take a moment, and prayed as he did that he didn't make it too obvious the encouraging effect her words and their genuineness had on him.

Felt good, knowing he wasn't entirely alone, even if his only alliance was an uneasy one.

"_**I think there are far worse politicians to be put into the hands**_** of.**"

"Guessing you don't have a good track-record with them."

"**_About as good as yours._**"

She snorted.

"_**I also think David Anderson is more of a man and a soldier than a politician, and not because Garrus told me he was. Reminds me of Colonel Hsu.**_"

This time, he surprised her. "Who's that?"

"_**NCR Colonel. Good man, earnest. One of the few higher-ups in that travesty of a nation I respect. Dear friend of mine, Craig Boone, was former 1st Recon. Told me about Hsu before I met him. Said, 'When he looked at you, you could see he understood.' Anderson is too honest for his position, I'm afraid, but at the least he's more than honest enough to have as a friend. If anyone would, he will help me get back home for the right reasons.**_"

His words obviously pleased her. "I'm glad. If we're doing this, we're doing it the right way, with the right people."

"**_Then I_**_**'d say this is a good start.**_"

She nodded slowly, then jerked her head behind him. "Go on, Garrus is waiting. When I get back to the ship, we'll hear you out."

He bowed his head slightly, and joined the turian's side. The skycar hummed as it hovered toward them.

* * *

"Alright, listen up, people," Jane called out in the room.

At her voice, the operatives of her crew looked to the front of the room where she stood, the Courier beside her with arms crossed and eyes peering over the class.

Even with his eyes on someone else, she felt their dreadful weight.

"You all know the situation, you've heard the Courier's story. None of you believe it, so let's talk about what you don't know."

That sparked interest throughout the room, and she maintained it by bringing their attention to the table, upon which were displayed foreign weaponry. The Courier's weaponry.

"These are items the rest of the crew don't know about yet as I've classified them. The reason was that they were of unknown technology. The Courier told me his items and personal effects reinforce his story. Additionally, he has discovered something that can prove his... interdimensional travel, let's call it."

Eyes widened on the faces in front of her.

"That's right, which means that in the next few minutes, everything is about to change. Our world..." Shepard glanced to the Courier at her side. "...and his." She let her eyes move stay on every one of them for a second. "Toughen up, people. I suspect things are about to get weird." She moved to the side, gestured to the front of the room. "The floor is yours."

He took to it, and wasted no time starting.

"_**Following the Second World War, your humanity did not take long to focus on electronics.**_" He pushed the button of a remote so small in his big hands it had been hidden until now.

Behind him, on the projection screen, appeared an image.

"_**This is the transistor, invented in 1947. This tiny object – its invention – along with that of micro-technology such as the chip and the processor, allowed mankind to progress rapidly along the technological path offered by electronics. These inventions were mass-produced, commercialised, globalised. Computers were found everywhere, and used electricity for power. Before long, they were made hand-held.**_"

He held up the remote, pressed it, and two more images appeared. Those of an old behemoth of a computer, appeared in black-and-white, alongside another image this one colored, showing a touchscreen phone.

"_**You went from what was then considered supercomputers the size of whom could fill entire warehouses, to these tiny computers that far surpassed its giant precursor in efficiency, complexity, and processing power, in far smaller packaging.**_"

He paused, stared over his shoulder quietly at the images, then looked back.

"_**In my reality, on my Earth, the transistor was not invented until 2067, and the Old World instead had to use vacuum tubes to efficiently conduct electricity through supercomputers about as efficient and massive as those in your 1950s were.**_"

In her periphery, Shepard saw glances exchanged, but she kept her eyes ahead

"_**However, where you progressed along the path of electronics, the Old World found a future, short-lived as it was, in atomic energy and robotics.**_"

Behind him, a visual depiction of the atom appeared beside a cartoon drawing of an old 21st century robot.

"_**Your age was that of the Digital age thanks to electronics, whereas ours never left the Atomic age. Instead, we advanced it. Our power sources were of fusion and fission, everything had the mark of nuclear power on it, from generators and cars in domestic regions to standard-issue Power Armor and standard missiles in the military.**_"

"Makes sense," said Mordin. "Ten-thousand nuclear warheads didn't come from nowhere. Were the cornerstone of every modern army, norm of modern technology."

The Courier nodded. "_**Exactly.**_"

The projection switched off, and the Courier approached the table in front of him.

"_**Here's concrete proof of our divergent histories.**_" A gloved hand swept across the pair of weapons, "_**From what I've seen of your modern weaponry, I can say these are like nothing you've ever seen. Am I right?**_"

No one answered, but Shepard noticed Mordin nodding in his seat like an attentive student. She smiled at the sight.

"_**Thought so. That surprises me, because in all your years of space travel, not even one of the several alien civilizations has managed what humanity on my Earth had. Energy weaponry.**_**" **

Her widening eyes flicked toward him, Shepard stared stunned, wondering if she heard it wrong, yet the Courier caused such a reaction in the entire room with her words that she couldn't have.

"Hold on, did you say _energy_?"

Instead of answering her with words, the Courier picked up the rifle. "_**This is a Wattz 3000, manufactured and distributed by Wattz Electronics. Exceptionally modular, currently configured as a full-auto Laser Rifle.**_"

It suddenly powered on with a sound, with three strips on each of the frame's sides set red aglow. With his left hand latched onto the underside of the green-with-yellow-highlights frame he opened the magazine underneath to pluck out one of those red packets.

"_**This is a microfusion cell which it uses for ammunition.**_" He loaded it back in, clammed it shut, and put it down, before he pointed to the pistol. "_**The Plasma Defender, more officially known as the Glock 86, was made in Austria by Gaston Glock. Shoots small bolts of superheated plasma using an energy cell.**_" He plucked out a green packet from the pistol, showcasing it, before putting it back in.

"How did you activate it?" Miranda asked, having shaken herself from shock into a state of focus that seemed natural. "We tried everything we could without picking it apart, but we found no way to get it to work. We thought it was broken."

"_**Only activates in contact with my armor's fingertips. A sensor-lock is integrated in the weapon. And since my armor is custom-made with identification systems of its own, the sensor won't recognize anyone else wearing it. Same sensor-lock system for my revolvers and lever-action.**_"

"Speaking of," Shepard interjected, "How come your ballistic weapons are effective at all? Aria said you took out Blue Sun fireteams on Omega. If the weapons you had on you at the time were ballistic, they shouldn't have been able to make a single dent."

"_**They're not solely ballistic.**_" He flourished his revolvers from their holsters with a native grace that put old Western movies to shame, and placed them on the table. His lever-action rifle was unslung and placed down beside them. "_**All three of them are Old World design like most weapons you can find among the ashes, but I took a liking to these these three in particular, modified them. They're a mixture between gunpowder weaponry and rail-guns.**_"

"What?" Jacob was awestruck. "No way."

"Amazing," Mordin uttered in a milder awe. "Explains bizarre noise in the security footage."

Zaeed laughed out loud. "Hadley is one unlucky son of a gun to be on the other end of that."

"_**Indeed,**_" the Courier said, then turned to Mordin. "_**Odd noise you heard was the electromagnetism at the end of the barrel, and the rails' heating system.**_"

Heating-system? This just keeps getting better.

"How is that practical?" Jacob asked. "I mean, let's say your Earth managed to create power sources that can generate enough for laser and plasma weaponry as well as rail-guns. Why have a rail-gun and gunpowder hybrid? That's just unnecessary."

"_**The revolvers and the Medicine Stick–**_" the name aroused her interest. "_**–are my personal possessions. Custom-made, like the armor. Personal preference for redundancy's why I made them hybrids instead of sticking to rail-guns. The places I traverse are harsh. If not flaming heat, then flaying sandstorms, or pockets of extreme radiation. Usually out there for days at a time before I can recharge power sources, and until then gunpowder is a blessing out in the Wasteland.**_"

There was a silence – one brought about by irrefutable arguments and proof. No one knew what to say to disprove him.

"Who are you?"

The question's suddenness twisted the Courier's head Jane's direction, but she didn't say anything else, let the question hang in the air. Someone who had gunpowder-railgun hybrids and customized power-armor couldn't be a nobody in a post-apocalyptic world.

He turned to face her operatives – Miranda, Jacob, Mordin, Zaeed, Garrus – and said, "_**In the Mojave, I am known as the Courier. Famous there for many things. Mainly - currently - I am known as the ruler and protector of the city-state of New Vegas.**_"

The room was filled with a stunned silence.

The Courier glanced aside to Shepard. "_**Anderson's offer to elect me as ambassador of my Earth was more appropriate than you thought.**_"

When she managed to move past her surprise, Jane scoffed, and felt a disbelieving smile form on her lips. "So not just anyone landed in our lap, huh?"

He shook his head. "_**I'm afraid not. But regardless of who I am, the explanation for why I'm here remains the same.**_" Then he went on to explain the function of the transportalponder to the rest of the room. Though the absurd name did did little to disprove anything, it made the room considerably more reluctant, which he noticed.

"You said you found something," Shepard said, to help him out if he was telling the truth, or put him on the spot if he was bullshitting. "I think now's the time to tell us what."

The Courier grunted, not aggressively, but in a sort of mild acceptance.

She leaned back, crossed her arms.

_Moment of truth._

"_**EDI, I'd like your help with this,**_" he said, then lifted his forearm up. He tapped away, not at his omni-tool, but that 'Pip-Boy' around his wrist. "_**Tell us, do you notice anything from my armor? Any readings?**_"

"I do not," the A.I. said. "Yours was notoriously hard to penetrate with scanners."

"_**Never mind the armor, you're not meant to see anything. Look for something coming **_**from**_** it. A signal. Do you see it?**_"

There was a pause. "I do not–" it suddenly went silent. "I do."

Jane looked up, surprised. "What's up, EDI? What do you see?"

"There seems to be have appeared readings... a life-support system. The Courier's life-support system. He has made it available to my sensors, but I can't read its specifics. I just know it's there."

"_**Something else, too...**_" the Courier drifted off, implicitly.

"Yes. It is sending out a signal from a built-in transponder."

"_**Can you tell them where it is being sent to?**_"

This silence was even longer – too long for an A.I. to discern to receiving location of a simple transponder, and much too long for an A.I. to establish that the location was simply being jammed.

"Curious."

"You wanna let us in on what's going on?" Jane said, impatiently. She couldn't tell you why, but she was anxious.

"The receiver of his transponder signal... that is, it's intended target... it reached the exact point of where we found the Courier."

"And?"

"...It stops there."

"So the location of the transponder's receiver is where we found him?" She looked to the Cerberus ops, then to Mordin. Not one of them understood. "The way you're saying it makes me think it means something, but I don't know what, EDI. What's going on?" She let her frustration be known.

"Apologies, Shepard. By itself, it means nothing. But it isn't being scrambled. It's being received... but not by something in our galaxy."

Her mind blanked. "But I thought you said the receiver was where we found him. That's by Omega. Isn't that in our galaxy?"

The Courier's voice pulled her gaze down. "_**Thank you, EDI. I can take it from**_** here.**" He turned to her. "_**Commander Shepard, what this mean is that the transponder from my armor has been active since I first arrived here. It is set to automatically activate in the case of emergency, and it has two receivers. One is inside the Lucky 38, an Old World casino in the heart of New Vegas. It is my headquarters. The other is inside the Think Tank at Big Mountain, the main research facility of New Vegas. Both of which exist only in my world. What EDI is seeing but not understanding is the signal passing from this universe, into the hole in spacetime from whence I came, and arriving in the Lucky 38 and Big Mountain. She simply cannot see them, but I can. The signal of my transponder is extremely weak, but the fact that it exists is tangible, undeniable proof that a... gate of sorts, between our realities, had been opened.**_"

The people in that room, if they had the strength or will to somehow clear their minds of the shocking revelation (which not one of them did), and look Shepard's way, they would have seen her like she had never been seen before – frozen and slack-jawed.

"No fucking way," Zaeed said.

"EDI, is he telling the truth?" Miranda asked immediately.

"...I believe he is. His explanation is the likeliest."

"I'm not asking if you believe it's true – _is_ it true?"

"Operative Lawson, the signal is being received, but by nothing in this galaxy and nothing that I can read. I would know if it was in this galaxy, even if the location was being jammed. But the signal is an impossible signal, because while I can still see that it is being received... it seems as if it is being received by nothing. It is hard to explain."

Not for the Courier it seemed. "_**The receivers are in my world, and the signal, though extremely weak, is reaching it. Can't say if the 'gate' is opened or simply... ajar, but it **_**is **_**reaching into the other world. EDI can't understand it because I haven't allowed her. Only I have a RobCo terminal.**_" He held up his Pip-Boy. "**_Only I can understand it. All EDI sees is the signal. And despite our distance, it hasn't weakened or strengthened one bit since I discovered it two days ago._**"

_This is real,_ Shepard thought, Shepard knew, but she had to make sure.

"EDI," Shepard spoke, after finally managing to clear her head. "Do you believe him?"

Again there was a pause – and it was too unlike the A.I., even for someone who had known her for only a week, because it was the first time the A.I. had acted so humanly dumbfounded.

"It is an impossible signal, Shepard," EDI said. "If any explanation could ever be believable, the Courier's is it."

Okay.

So it _is_ real.

He was telling the truth.

Which means he is part of her crew now.

And she still has to hold a debriefing.

So she nodded, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out.

_Guess I should start with the Collectors._

When she opened her eyes and met the Courier's, and realized she was looking at someone who existed in her dreams before he ever existed in her reality, she froze.

And what she intended to say was scrambled by the insanity of it all.

"Fuck me," she told him.

* * *

**Despite it feeling really slow to me, I feel as though it was necessary and in character for these characters to these steps and have these interactions. I hope the chapter was enjoyable.**

**What do you think? Was this chapter slow? Was it _too_ slow, that it could have been written better? In what way? Let me know, I'd love to improve the story and your experience reading it.**

**To clarify the latest chapter, Shepard and Garrus' interactions were not and will not be romantic. They are simply good friends with Garrus going along with Shepard's weird sense of humor.**

**Finally! The ME crew finally realize the Courier has been telling the truth, and their interactions is something I look forward to writing, and I believe you will find a treat.**

**And as a sidenote, the Courier's makeshift quarters is Jack's quarters in ME2. **

**Next Chapter: Something behind the curtain...**


	11. The Eagle or The Bull?

He sits upon his throne. Cheek against fist, he awaits word.

His death had been a cruel one. Vicious at the hands of a savage. Unworthy of a plutocrat.

But just as his golden eagle, he has risen above the afterlife's squalor, wings spread and proud. Shining. A symbol of hope for the empire, and all who lives and will live in it.

Just look around his throne room.

It is magnificent, with gilded halls of sublime, marble pillars, braziers of royal red fire, and gilded statues of his perfection. Lush carpets soften the floor, and verdant grass the likes of which the wastelands could only dream of lines the hall's flanks.

His soldiers stood no longer with sports gear, but clad in resplendent armor. Stoic with discipline, their faces were as fearless as the statues of Mars.

Within each of the shallow pools that were arrayed throughout the throne room were at least three women, and all of them voluptuous and writhing, wet and willing. Their eyes, beautiful **_BLUE_**.

From leather upon rusted metal pipes, his throne had been changed to one of flawless, glinting alloys as if wrought by Vulcan himself.

Yes, his death had been cruel, vicious, vengeful. Unworthy. But he had been reborn to a throne far more worthy of him than one structured with exhaust pipes could ever be.

And it was they who had given it to him.

They had come to him months before. Offered him a body as noble as the flesh of his aquiline nose and as perfect as the metal upon which he rested.

It will be _the_ Magnum Opus, the great work, of the old ones that would allow him to finally save the people of the wastes. It will do more than the state he had headed before ever could. Savagery will be scourged, and civilization will thrive under his thumb. They had sworn him this.

He would not forget what they had done for him.

The wastes might think him dead, but they will rejoice when he ascends among the old ones. Just as them, he will be demiurge, and he will save humanity. Shackles and cages will be melted down for towers.

The old ones had but one condition.

The door to his gilded halls opened, and the messenger clad in silks ran to the steps of his throne, and saluted. "_Ave!_"

"Speak," he said. He tires already of pleasantries.

The messenger kneeled. "The mercenaries are dead. When they attacked the residences, they failed to kill all of the people. The whore Aria blames a mystery benefactor."

She was not wrong to, but he was much more than that.

"And their objective?"

The messenger smiled at that, but wisely dared not meet his eyes. He did not speak.

Suddenly, a horn blared in his ears, and he grimaced, rubbing his head.

Their generosity would never be lost on him, but these demiurges spoke with a vile tongue–

"No! I'm just not ready to hear their language. I have to do what they ask. Then they'll understand. I am worthy of ascension. I am. They are not vile, but generous."

Generous.

Not vile.

He grit his teeth behind closed, stern-_**BLACKENED**_-lips, and opened his eyes as the blares softened in his head. And a vision appeared before him.

Fire from muzzles of weapons, and the screaming of the profligate filth of Omega as they fell.

Abruptly, the vision was scrambled, and when it returned, the captain was on his back. He stood up, and looked behind to see fear from his men.

A weak leader. He would have whipped it out of them had they been in his army.

"What's your malfunction, assholes!?"

They could not answer as they stood, petrified. So the captain turned back, and looked.

Before the captain did, he saw the figure in the ashes stand, and stand tall.

Red eyes opened, aglow with rancor, and stared, right into his blue, healthy-_**SICKLY**_-ones.

"Cato. Took you long enough."

The vision faded, and he stared out at his gilded, marble hall, and his soldiers, and his resolve hardened.

Caesar's voice boomed.

"LEGIONNAIRES! THE ENEMY HAS COME! FROM HIS ASHES I WILL ASCEND AS THE PHOENIX, AND TAKE MY PLACE AMONG THE GODS! ALL OF YOU WHO FIGHT FOR ME WILL BE REWARDED, IN LIFE AND IN DEATH!"

His men turned, taciturn, toward him, and thrust their weapons into the skyless above, as their collective voices bellowed.

"_**AVE! TRUE TO CAESAR! TRUE TO CAESAR!**_"

To his ears, they were glorious.

Had the wires jammed into the back of his skull been pulled out, he would hear not seasoned veteran legionnaires honoring their Caesar but the repugnant howls of mechanical monstrosities, and he would see the hall turn from gold and marble to black metal, interlaces with wires like maggots writhing in manure, and paste of human matter churning through tubes in the walls.

But the wires were as much part of him as his literally-blackened heart, permanently impaled into his brain.

His noseless visage grinned at the sight of his glorious-_**MONSTROUS**_-army.

"MARCH, LEGIONNAIRES!"

His proclamation rang out from him, wide-armed as the golden-_**CRUCIFIED**_-eagle.


	12. Deep into that darkness, I stood peering

**This won't exactly sound encouraging, but no matter how much I stress or rewrite, this is the best I could come up with. The writer's block didn't help with time either.**

**Now, that's not as bad as it sounds. Considering where we are in the story, this is as much effort I am willing and able to put into refining the pacing, writing, dialogue, and characterization, because this isn't a point in the story where shit can get going as much as I'd like. I felt like I ended up trying to ****cram too many character interactions into this one chapter, and had to cut much of it out so it wouldn't feel so damn slow. But on the flip-side of this coin, ****I can't force fast pacing without fearing I'm detracting from the story quality not building up character relations.**

**I don't know if I'm unable to find a balance or if I'm right on the money with my assumption that this particular chapter is during a part of the ME story where much just doesn't happen in terms of plot development, and to add to this I'm restricted to the ME2 storyline pacing (for now, until other plotlines are introduced/continued). **

**You could help me figure this kind of thing out by reviewing and telling me if the action is too slow or good enough to carry the story forward, and if the interactions feel too sparse. I'd love to hear what you have to say.**

**Now, this chapter won't be as hectic and fast-paced as chapters 7 and 8, but it isn't as slow as chapter 10 (or maybe it is, if so do let me know) but you will still find it interesting I think (and hope).**

**Now, enough of my rambling and venting, you came here to enjoy the story, so enjoy.**

* * *

The gym had a heart, and it beat like _thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump,_ rhythmic and primitive. The pattern had rung out for the past twenty minutes.

Shepard's lungs burned, sweat rushed down her body, ponytail swiveling and swinging with her tensile strafes, flicking with her thrusting punches and arcing through the air with her legs as she met the CQC mech's strikes and retaliated against its own defense.

Shepard fought breath-steady to the ringing bells and shredding guitar of _For Whom the Bell Tolls_.

Her muscled arms struck the mech's padding harshly, and decisively swiped aside its attacks whenever she didn't dance around them, meanwhile the mech swung and hooked in its own assault against her unarmored form while attempting to evade and block hers. It struck rarely, and only when she let it for the sake of tact, to let flow the waves of their fight.

This kind of mech wasn't made for improving skills beyond what was expected of N1s; to most N7s it was completely useless, but Shepard knew how to use it for a profuse work-out. It was extremely predictable; she knew its moves like a mirror image, but its rudimentary VI would learn your moves too if you used a select set of them long enough, so you could learn to dance with it.

And how Shepard danced, arms like blurs, legs like slashes, _thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump_, all while she was worked into a tactile frenzy of burning muscles and blows of the fight to the music.

"_Shouting gun, on they run, through the endless grey!_"

"_On they fight, for they're right, yes, but who's to say!?_"

"_For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know!_"

"_Stiffened wound test their pride!_"

"_Men of five, still alive, through the raging glow!_"

"_Gone insane, from the pain, that they surely know!_"

Her body shook from the strike it landed harshly on her abdomen, and she retaliated with an elbow thrust in its faceless front.

"_For whom the bell tolls!_"

And as the song proclaimed, time marched on, until her omni-tool rang out, signalling the end of their thirty minute spar, and the mech exited its pugilist posture to a complacent one, arms at its side.

"Volume down!" she called. "EDI?"

"You have broken your previous record of twenty minutes and seventeen seconds."

She knew that, considering she had set the time to exactly thirty minutes herself, but it shocked her that she had _at least _another five minutes of fighting in her.

_Cerberus' cybernetics at work, I guess._

The clapping of hands surprised her, and she spun around. "Magnificent!" Garrus was smiling as he said it. "Magnificent display!"

"Thank you, thank you!" She flourished an extravagant bow that burned her tired, tensile muscles. Her abdomen flexed with her breaths. "How long were you watching?" she panted.

"Oh, about ten minutes, so I'd say."

"Seriously?" She shook her head in disbelief, and walked over to the bench.

"You didn't notice? Guess you were '_in the zone_', as you humans call it."

She looped the towel around her shoulders, brought the water bottle to her mouth – and god-_damn!_ if it wasn't the best thing she ever drank.

Garrus accompanied her to the empty locker room.

Inside, it was impossible to miss the mirror, as the scars glowed in the corner of her eyes. Shepard stared at them, but refused to touch them, afraid it might crack and crumble her mask, reveal a metal mess not unlike Saren's countenance.

Suddenly desperate for a shift in thoughts, Jane turned away. "So what's up, Garrus? Want to talk, or just shoot the shit?"

"For now, just shoot the shit," he said, then frowned. "I thought it was '_chew the fat_'."

"For now?" Though her voice came out indifferent, a jolt of hope started her chest.

Garrus nodded with eyes averted. "Yeah... I guess I owe you an explanation, considering you pulled my ass out of the fire."

"We do that because we're friends. You don't owe me a damn thing." Goddammit, didn't he know that?

"You're right," he said. "Still, though, however you want to put it... I'm, ah, ready to talk."

Her smile was small only because she tried to hide it. "Good. That's good."

Garrus didn't know what to say.

"Get the fuck out," Jane said with a smile. "I'm undressing."

Smiling, Garrus rolled his eyes and left the room, but let the door stay open so his voice could be heard. "Maybe I should just leave, before I give the crew more reason to think I'm your xeno boy-toy."

She snorted, slipping the towel off, peeling her black N7 tank-top up and off before throwing it into her locker along with her shorts, "You are _way_ too gruff to be considered a boy-toy."

"Gruff?"

"I'm being polite – what I mean is your face is too messed up."

There was an excess of tremble to Garrus' flanging voice - he was trying not to laugh. "I'd prefer it if you stayed that way – polite, that is."

"As you wish, Mr. Vakarian." She finished unwrapping her hands and legs of their bandages.

Undressed, she proceeded to the shower.

Whatever else she felt about her new and... "improved" body, it still gave her the same pleasures as her old one did, and there were few things as satisfying as washing the layer of sticky sweat off your body after a workout like that.

"Ugh..." she groaned in pleasure. "_Fuck..._"

A horrible sound quickly, abruptly took her from her pleasure.

Shepard frowned, whispering, "_What the f_... Are you singing!?"

"Vocalizing!" Garrus called back. "I'm bored!"

"Well, you don't gotta fuck up my good time with that shrieking!" She made sure her smile was heard in her voice.

"What happened to being polite?!"

"Alright, alright!"

She endured his purposefully annoying "vocalizing" for another minute before he got quiet.

"...Hey!"

Shepard brought her face to the streaming water, washing the soap from her eyes and mouth, "What?!"

"The Courier!"

She blinked. "What about him?!"

"You think he'll come up, yet?!"

She dug her fingers into her scalp, and got to work. "How should I know?!"

"You're his commander now, aren't you? Order him to socialize! Joker and just about everyone else have gotten stir-crazy not hearing anything from him!"

"I'm not forcing him to do anything! If he doesn't want to talk, so be it!"

"Come on, you're curious too!"

"What do you mean, 'I'm curious'?! _Everyone's_ curious! What's your point?!"

"He's sitting on the key to the multiverse, Shepard! I don't think this is the time to be patient!"

Finished, Jane punched the shower tap, waited until the water petered out, and stepped out of the locker shower room dripping. After she grabbed her towel, she later left the locker-room dry, with her usual look on – an N7 hoodie, cargo pants, boots, and a messy head of hair.

Garrus uncrossed his arms and pushed himself off the wall, falling in beside her.

Before he could say anything, she said, "Look. I'm kinda frustrated about it too, but I won't _make_ him do anything. I don't care if Doctor Mordin said he's a scientist, he's not gonna crack this case by himself, especially not in a lab on a stealth frigate, Cerberus-funded or not. Best I can do is advise him to clear his head and, I don't know, stop reading so much about the mission." Shepard sighed. "That kinda shit'll rot your hope and sanity anyway."

Garrus was contemplatively silent. "You think he's taking it that bad?"

"I don't know," she admitted, which surprised her friend. It had surprised her, too. Even if she was observing someone who was masked, body-language told her enough. But not with him. That man was still like stone when he wanted to be. Which was always, it seemed like. "The Courier didn't so much as sigh when I briefed him. And yeah, he might just be reclusive for all I know. But even then... I mean, shit. The Reapers and Collectors. They're something out of a nightmare. You saw what he was like when he saw the Relay and the Citadel. 'Galactic' wasn't in his vocabulary until a week ago, and now we spring _this shit_ on him?" She shook her head. "Bound to mess with even the toughest people."

Garrus was quiet, staring at her.

Jane glanced at him, frowned. "What?"

"Nothing..."

"Subtle." There was a short silence, but she used it to change the subject. "So, wanna talk now?"

"The Battery_,_" Garrus said.

She nodded.

They arrived and the door closed behind them, and Shepard leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.

"What's up?" she began. "Something happened?"

"No, no. Things are going fine. No trouble from the crew, if that's what you're asking."

She nodded. "Wasn't sure how you'd feel working with Cerberus."

"Still a bit unsure, but we've only just started."

She sighed. "Hell of a start." Her arm still throbbed sometimes, like a phantom pain, but it was probably just somatic considering the thing was still attached to her. No permanent damages, to the Doc's shock and her own.

Garrus agreed with a nod. "No kidding. I won't pretend I understand, Shepard, but it's like I said. I trust you."

She smiled, heart-warmed.

"Besides, even if I didn't, I'd be in no position to doubt anyone. Not after I got my own squad killed."

Her eyes widened, and the smile died on her lips.

"I remember one of the Blue Suns said you had a team," she recalled softly. "What did your squad do?"

When Garrus' eyes rose from the floor, she saw anger in them. "You saw what Omega was like – it was full of thugs kicking the helpless. I formed my own team to kick back."

"A merc squad?"

"No, we made money by taking down slavers, pirates, or gangs that went too far. We were on our own."

Vigilantism.

All those times they had talked in Engineering as she watched him tinker with the Mako, the embittered regard in which he held C-Sec and their beaurucratic ways. Back then, it was easy imagining this beat, C-Sec turian going off like Rambo on a fool-hardy and doomed mission to clean up the galaxy, but right now it didn't feel too easy imagining her best friend going off and trying to get himself killed.

And she realized to no small amount of bitterness and self-hatred that it was probably her death had sent him over the edge. When she was gone, only her words remained, and they spurred him on to... this.

"We didn't shake anyone down," Garrus insisted, and she realized she had been staring.

"Of course not, Garrus. I know you better than that."

The turian paused, then sighed. "Sorry."

She waved it off. Pretended it didn't hurt. "So how did you operate on Omega?"

"We'd hit their shipments, get them angry, stupid. And when they'd come charging right into our well-prepared kill-zone, we'd take them out. Crossfire and snipers, clean and surgical. They never stood a chance. No civilian casualties, of course."

"Of course." She'd be lying if she said she wasn't proud, but now was certainly not the time and place to say it, with his friends' deaths on his mind. "How many were in your squad?"

"Twelve of us. Former military operatives, C-Sec agents, the usual. Even had a salarian demo expert. Pretty sure he was STG."

She looked down with a nod.

She tried to stop it, but her old squad wrested her thoughts from her will.

Andrea, Marlow, Dudek, Habib.

With no little effort, Jane removed them from her mind. "How did your team get taken out?"

Garrus' marred face twisted into something hateful. "It was my own damn fault. One of my people betrayed me." He started pacing. "A turian named Sidonis. He drew me away with a fake mission just before the mercs attacked my squad, and when they were dead on the ground, he cleared out his accounts and booked a flight off Omega, disappeared. By the time I got back to what remained of my team, only two survived. They didn't last long."

"Garrus..." Her heart broke for him. "Shit."

Garrus' eyes were knowing – knowing that she had suffered the same thing. "I have to find him."

She crossed her arms, brooding. "You know where he is?"

"No. His trail vanishes after he leaves Omega. But I'll keep hunting. I lost my whole team, except for Sidonis. One day I'll find him... and correct that."

Shepard wanted to say she would help him. And she would. Yet he sounded obsessed, furious. He had every right to be, but she couldn't like it.

But then, she had been far, far worse when she found Haliat.

"I'll be by your side when it happens, Garrus."

He nodded, a glimmer of gratitude surfacing amongst the anger. "Thanks for letting me ramble, Shepard, I gotta get back to work." His return to it was hasty.

And Shepard, too anxious with hiding her concern, could only nod, and leave without saying to her friend another word.

* * *

The world's always got another cage.

God's words, now echoing through the dark of the Courier's mind.

These Collectors, enigmatic, solitary, like living phantoms, were carapaced insectoids marching along stasis pods, drones following out orders. Planning to do spirits know what to these unfortunates that were projected onto the wall of his quarters.

Swarms of fly-like machines flew around as bullets past the camera's view, as it panned from the left to the right in an overview of a plaza.

There were so many of them. Pods and Collectors both, and collect they did, something grim. It was a horrifying thing to witness, and a dreadful thing to try and understand.

"**When was this?**" his question came out, steadier than his heart was.

"The footage was discovered at 2027 hours, the day before we found you," EDI told him. "It was on the colony of Freedom's Progress. It confirmed that the Collectors were behind the abductions, and reinforced the suspicion that they are working for the Reapers."

Reapers...

The discovering of their nature... it alone nearly shattered his mind again.

To his own despair and silent agony, he could not stop reading about them – would not. He might fear, but the Courier never averted his eyes to the truth, and he hated himself for it.

There was the extranet, and what Shepard had said in her accounts to the Council and the Alliance, and what Cerberus knew that the former two didn't.

"_**You said... Commander Shepard killed a Reaper?**_"

It didn't seem possible. To kill a dark god – one of them that had built the Relays and the Citadel? A fever dream.

"Yes."

He scoffed in his helmet. Wide-eyed, disbelieving.

Hopeful.

Foolishly so, maybe.

"She pursued the indoctrinated Turian Spectre, Saren Arterius." He saved the question as to the nature of Spectres, when the projection ousted the abominable footage of the Collectors and displayed a turian, with as much threading metal in him as flesh. "In the Battle of the Citadel, Commander Shepard's orders saved the Citadel Council aboard the Destiny Ascension and the rest of the Citadel Fleet. The Acturus Fleet, by her orders, traversed the Relay and engaged the Geth, leaving the Destiny Ascension clear before proceeding to destroy Sovereign whilst the Citadel Fleet recovered."

An image was shown of a vast, prawn-like machine wrapped about the spire of the Citadel Tower, which was still fresh in his memory, from where he could see it at the embassies. It was dark of metal, and from its mouth appendages lashed out with red beams that sheared through spaceships like a gladius splitting a tin can open.

Red, unfathomable eyes glared out ahead from its head, as though he was surrounded by annoying insects.

And Shepard had killed it. EDI showed as much, as the image of the Reaper's charred and sundered corpse blanketed the wall.

"Though the Alliance took heavy losses, her decisions saved the galaxy that day, and earned humanity a seat on the Council. Her status as the First Human Spectre was elevated further as the Hero of the Citadel."

Needless to say, the Courier's respect for Jane Shepard had improved vastly.

"_**Shepard has done humanity credit.**_"

There was a pause from EDI. "...Are you proud?"

The question surprised him - that a shackled A.I. could even ask that was a testament to the complexity of EDI's mind. Ripe for learning.

He leaned back, and pondered. "_**I am... admiring of her**_** actions,**" he answered her, before adding "_**But I don't believe pride to be apt.**_"

"Why is that, Courier?"

"_**The men and women who gave their lives for aliens, destroyed a Delphic horror older than humanity... There is no comparison between their actions and that of my world's humans. Different species, by all rights but biological. We're cruel, vicious. Hateful. Here, they proved themselves in sacrifice. More than what mine ever did.**_"

His eyes fell.

"_**I shouldn't even be here. But I wanted to satisfy my hate, so I am. I am as bad as those I decry.**_"

EDI had no response to that.

* * *

Miranda was surprised to see Shepard. "Commander."

"Lawson." She stepped into the room, approached the table.

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Yeah, you can, actually."

"Well, ask, and I'll answer to the best of my ability."

"I appreciate that. But first, I was wondering. Did you think about what I said yesterday?"

Lawson arched a brow. "I have."

That's all she said on the subject, but it was good enough, so Shepard nodded.

Miranda usually stuck to herself. She was far from solitary – she didn't get those looks just to not use them – but she seemed to have this idea in her head that walking among the troops was taboo or something, weakness.

It was transparent the woman was more of a tactician and strategist than she is a leader, and Shepard didn't mince her words when she let the woman know what she thought.

It seems the Cerberus operative wasn't too proud to appreciate what she was trying to do, if her lack of coldness today was any indication.

"Alright. Well, at any rate, I was curious about you."

"Me?" She seemed surprised first, then not. "I suppose that's fair. I've spent the past two years learning everything there is to know about you."

Shepard didn't know how to feel about that.

Miranda spoke about her genetic modification. Suddenly the perfection of her finely-sculpted visage, and the immaculate curves of her body were a little less surprising to Jane.

"Really." Shepard peered at the beauty curiously. "How extensively are we talking?"

"Extensive. I'm superior in many ways. I heal quickly and I'll live half again as long as the average human. My biotic abilites are also advanced... for a human."

"Pftt." Miranda cocked an eyebrow at that. "More than a bit advanced. You were the only one that managed to knock the Courier on his ass."

She smiled. "I'll admit that's a point of adequate pride."

Shepard chuckled. "Yeah! As it should be. What do you think of him?"

"The Courier? Outside of the knife he put in my shoulder – which, let's be honest, was far from the worst he could have done – he's not as rough around the edges as one would expect from a post-atomic-holocaust survivor. At least from what I gathered of his behavior during his little presentation with the pocket-watch. He's an interesting character." Her voice was indifferent, but Shepard saw better. In her eyes, the subtle tugs of her fine facial features.

"More than you like to let on," Shepard smiled.

Miranda narrowed her eyes slightly. People usually got like that when Jane got observant about them. "I'd like to find out more about him," Lawson relented.

"Who wouldn't." She sat down on the designer couch. "What's Tim got to say about all this, anyway?"

"The Illusive Man? He's gotten my report, of course. But whether he wants to meet with the Courier or not, he's yet to tell me. I imagine he is considering whether the Courier is worthwhile, or if he should simply focus on the gate between our worlds. It's not an easy task to impress him. You had to kill a reaper and save the entire galaxy."

Jane smiled, narrowing her eyes. "You're very forthcoming with this information."

"Why ever wouldn't I be?" Miranda smirked deviously, but not for the reason Shepard suspected. "It isn't as though you wouldn't have figured it out yourself."

Shepard raised her eyebrows. "I think you're giving me a bit too much credit."

"Being coy, are we? Come now, Shepard, I've spent two years studying you. The Alliance propagandists making up posters might think your _fearless, piercing eyes_ are your greatest features, but I know better."

Jane shrugged – no point in insulting the woman's intelligence. "Thanks for confirming my suspicion at least."

Miranda nodded. "You're welcome."

She pushed herself to her feet. "I'll get out of your luscious hair, Lawson."

The woman shook her head stifling a smile, and Shepard grinned before turning around and making her way out of the room.

"Commander," came Lawson's voice, stopping her just at the door. "How did you know to trust the Courier?"

"What do you mean?"

"There was a sort of... certainty about you – It was there from the moment he gave you the pocket-watch."

Shepard frowned slightly. "I didn't know he was telling the truth if that's what you mean."

"No, of course not. That's impossible. But still, there was _something_, and against all logic you listened to it and let him stay, even before he had solid proof. What was it? Intuition? Instinct?"

Shepard's frown deepened. Miranda seemed too interested in her, or her abilities at least.

No, Shepard's instinct seemed to have died two years ago with her body. Jane wasn't sure about anything anymore.

"I don't know what it was."

Miranda saw that it was the truth, because she really didn't know what that dream was. "I see. Thank you, Shepard. It was interesting talking to you."

She nodded. "Likewise."

And Jane left for the CIC.

"EDI," she said along the way.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Is the Courier busy?"

"He is sleeping."

Shepard frowned. "It's one in the afternoon."

"To clarify, it his first sleep since before the Citadel. He has been prolifically gathering information. I referred him to several datapads containing basic, necessary information on modern galactic culture, technology, and economics. Besides that, he has been reading our mission files."

"Any idea what his thoughts are about the Reapers?"

"I am not sure," EDI said. "His life-support systems have not been made available to me except the signal, so I am unable to discern physiological reactions of stress."

"How're you doing, Kelly?" she greeted absently as she walked up the podium. "Well unless he gets some sleep, he's going to mess himself up regardless. I need him at full combat readiness."

"I advised him at midnight to take time and rest. He responded that he does not need as much sleep as he used to."

"That him being a badass?"

"I do not understand."

Shepard sighed. "Was he trying to impress you by pretending he didn't need sleep?"

"The inflection of his voice did not imply that he was projecting any persona, nor that he was tired. It is possible that he has had physiological modification that change the process of his circadian rhythm," EDI said, to Shepard's surprise. "It would not be unlikely, as his strength and speed already indicated extensive alterations."

Well, if the man knows his limits, no reason for Shepard to be a hardass about how much he sleeps. "EDI, scan for resource-rich planets along the way to Purgatory and plot a course with Joker. We're going to need them once we start upgrading the Normandy?"

"Understood."

Besides. Something told her the Courier's project to get back home was going to be more than a little expensive.

So she watched, and probed, and watched...

And probed, and watched, and probed, and watched.

The monotony of it all forced her to hand the reins to EDI and retreat into her cabin with her thoughts.

Eventually, after extensive planning with her group for upgrading the Normandy, she looked at the time and saw it had gotten to be late, and she let herself fall in bed.

She was thankful that night ended up dreamless.

That morning when she was having breakfast in her room, her thoughts were with Garrus.

To think that her friend had all that corked up inside him, for how many days – three? – in silence. And he had to approach _her_, when it was always the other way around. _She_ was there for her friends, they never had to seek her out.

But whatever. It was done.

But then, she kept thinking – not on her fault in the matter, but the matter itself – and Jane's mind kept wandering to the Courier.

All alone, haunted with monstrosities he never knew existed before. Stranded in silence.

Unlike the rest of her crew, he had no one to talk to.

But her.

It was quiet when she arrived in the hold, but as she descended the hold, a faint noise loudened...

Music. And it wasn't half-bad either.

"_Blue moon. You saw me standin' alone._"

"_Without a dream in my heart, and without a love of my own._"

She held the flap open and peered quietly.

"_And then there suddenly appeared before me, The only one my arms will hold,_"

"_I heard somebody whisper 'Please adore me', And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold!_"

Shepard found him seated soundlessly atop his bunk, leaning back against the wall with a leather-bound book in his hand. His other hand held a pencil, and was scratching across the page. The military-green plates shifted ever so slightly to the movement of his hand.

She approached him quietly, carefully.

"_Blue mooooooon, now I'm no longer alone_"

"_Without a dream in my heart_"

"_Without a love of my own_"

"Nice tunes."

His form was trained and swift as he launched to both his feet in a stance. His coat spun magnificently as he did this, and the hand that dropped his book laid atop the hilt of his falcata on the crate.

"Easy." She help up her hands calmly.

There he stood, frozen at the sight of his guest.

Then his frame relaxed. "_**Commander.**_" He removed the hand quickly from the sword, and lowered the smooth saxophone from his wrist device so that the music became background noise to fill utter silence. "_**Turnabout's fair play.**_"

"What?" she frowned with confusion. "Oh, yeah! You startled me when I was talking to Garrus!"

He nodded. "_**I did.**_"

She jabbed a finger at him. "HA! Got you!"

He crossed his arms. "_**You did.**_"

"Damn right. Didn't even have to try."

"_**Neither did I.**_"

Her smile fell. "Oh. Yeah, fair enough." Shepard shrugged. "How is your morning?"

The Courier stared at her, then looked at his Pip-Boy.

She smirked, "Oh, that's not good."

"_**Pardon?**_"

"You had to make sure it really was morning."

He grunted, as if coming to the realization himself.

Yeah, this guy's out of it right now.

"_**Been busy.**_"

_No fucking shit._

He shut the book before she could remember to glance its contents, and sat down, pulling a gun out (the nickel 1911 with the greek inscriptions) from inside his coat, putting it on the crate, and got to work on pulling it apart.

She wondered: guy always act like he needs to do something, or like Garrus did he do it to keep his mind busy, because he'd rather not be in his head?

"_**Excuse my absence,**_" he said absently.

"Well, I would, but there's nothing to excuse. I'm more interested in _why_ you're being absent."

"_**Been busy. Homework, preparing and maintaining equipment.**_"

_Not what you were doing when I came in. _"So I heard."

"_**EDI?**_"

She nodded.

"_**I see. What'd she tell you?**_"

"Not much, except that you've been prolific in reading."

He nodded. "_**I'm planning to install kinetic barriers in my armor today. Shield'll give me more than enough time to move out of the way of incoming fire, get into cover, cloak. Whichever. I won't suddenly die from a stray bullet because my armor can't stop your kind of ammunition.**_"

That sounded like a good enough plan, but there was one hiccup. "So you don't intend to change into modern armor?"

He shook his head, still cleaning his Colt. "_**Not worth it. Too many important systems in this suit.**_"

She didn't question it. "It's your choice. I won't argue. But this can't endanger anyone else."

He nodded. "_**It won't.**_"

That was good enough for Jane. She looked about, but not for long as she did a double-take in the corner of his room.

That round, antenna-ed device was lying there, scorched and dusty.

But differently, with new marks she doesn't remember being there.

The Courier had worked on it.

"What is that thing?"

He glanced at her over his left shoulder, then over the right to what she was looking at, and back to his Colt. "**_Eyebot._**"

Her eyes widened. "Eyebot? So it _was_ a robot." She paused. "Though in hindsight, I should've figured that part out when you talked about robotics development in your world."

He grunted. "**_Nothing but an empty shell now._**"

"Yeah, the robot doesn't exactly look active. How advanced was it? The A.I. I mean."

"**_Too advanced._**"

That... wasn't the answer she was expecting. The implication was... interesting, and it gave her an idea of just why he was so taken with EDI.

"_**...Saw the Battle of the Citadel. It seems I didn't land in the lap of just anyone from this galaxy.**_"

"No. No, I'm afraid not." She never knew how to respond to comments on the things she's done, never mind praise. She moved on awkwardly. "So, uh, have you made your decision?"

"_**I have. I'll join your mission on the field.**_"

The suddenness surprised her. "Just like that?" There had been no hesitation.

"_**Not exactly. A day of consideration. There's only one choice for me.**_"

She frowned. "Because of the funds for your project? I won't hold that over your head; as long as you keep us up-to-date on any developments, you'll have the funds. I won't force you to risk your life knowing you're trying to get back to New Vegas and your friends."

His hand stopped, and he turned to stare. Somehow, she felt his surprise. "_**...I am grateful.**_" He looked back, hands moving again. "_**But there is only one choice here. I accept.**_"

She regarded him with less relief than she expected she'd feel, and with far more reluctance.

"Alright..." She entered the Normandy Crew registry in her omni-tool. "I'm assigning you to the lab, where you'll be helping Doctor Solus. I heard you were a scientist or something of the kind from the salarian himself. The sooner we're done with his research project, the better. You'll know why when he fills you in. Whenever you're not working on your own project, you'll be helping him with his. If you want, I can also assign him to help with yours. That is, if you're not uncomfortable working with an alien."

"**_Not at all_****_. Admittedly eager to, in fact._**"

She could believe it, considering the utter lack of reluctance in his body language and voice.

"Guess the life of a survivalist makes you blind to looks, huh?" she commented, then pondered. "Or does it make you more observant?"

"**_Unless you want to end up with a bullet in your back, you had damn well know when you're looking at a killer and when you're looking at a friend,_ at least.**"

"Fair enough." Finished, she lowered her omni-tool. "Alright. Listen up: after I'm back from the field today, I want you to have your resumé ready."

He looked over his shoulder. "_**Resumé?**_"

_Christ, really?_ It wasn't frustrating, just shocking. "Uh... A job application. I want a report of what exactly you can do in combat, and how as well as why. That means the workings of your every piece of equipment. Now, I get that you don't like people snooping around tech you don't think they're ready for, so I'm going to trust _you_ to appraise how much we need to know to work with you on the field as effectively as possible. Sound good to you?"

He nodded.

"Alright. After that, I'd like you to explain just what kind of physical and physiological modifications you've had. Cybernetics, gene mods, et-cetera. I'm not asking for a blueprint of the tech, I just want to know what they do. I also want a full report on your skills and merits."

"_**You'll have it.**_"

"Good." She nodded.

He didn't take his eyes off the Colt.

"You know..." He looked at her. "We are trying to stop the insidious end of galactic civilization, and you've only just been introduced to that kind of scale of existence. It's not too late to reconsider. No one would think lesser of you."

"**_I would._**"

She closed her mouth. "Point taken. I'm just surprised, is all. I imagined it would be weighing heavily on you."

Without her realizing it, and with the slide cocking back, the glinting Colt was reassembled. He placed it down whole on the crate before facing her. "_**You want to know if I'm afraid?**_"

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm saying. Why do you think accepting is the only choice for you?"

The Courier ruminated on his answer.

"...Courier?"

"_**You saved my**_ **_life._**" Shepard tried to veil how startled she was, with that almost inhuman baritone. "_**I owe you, and right is right.**_ _**Tens of thousands - innocents for all I know - are being abducted, likely butchered. Am I afraid? Yeah... I'm terrified. But fear's not a way of life, not a road I walk anymore. Just a tool now, a heuristic of caution. The Alliance transcript, however – t**__**he conversation with Sovereign... what he told you?**_" As he spoke, the leashed conviction, the contained anger with which the words were nigh-growled – Shepard had no problem imagining he'd spit them right in the Reaper's faces, "_**It isn't right. Not even a matter of who is owed what anymore - the Reapers' omnicide is true evil. The kind I can only stop all that I'm doing to prevent. Can't let what they're planning happen. **_**W****on't**_** let it happen, leave this galaxy to its fate.**_" Her eyes latched onto movement instinctively, and it landed on his hand atop the crate, as it wound into a closed fist, as he growled out "**It isn't right.** _**I reject that world.**_"

As confused as she was stunned, she only managed to mutter, "_You reject?–_ What-what does that mean?"

A stupid question. It was the way he spoke - she had to wonder where exactly the inferno of a passion was coming from. But of all the words he had said, Shepard couldn't even sure those had a meaning.

Until she caught him react.

Reluctance; a twist of his head, the aversion of the gaze. like when he shifted his coat over the message on his chest, the one about leaving his hatred in 'Sierra Madre.'

And there was the utter silence from him, too.

Jane knew that she had just managed to fumble her way through the fog of his words and touch on something close to his heart.

"_**Makes no matter,**_" was his eventual answer. "_**Enough for you to understand my reasons.**_"

Well _that_ she certainly couldn't fucking deny_. _Christ. She was all kinds of relieved that that kind of conviction wasn't being directed at her... again.

"Well, uh, I'm glad I can be sure you're doing this for the right reasons at least."

He grunted. "**_Like_**_** you said: if we do this, we do this the right way. Figured that should go both ways. Though, admittedly, Reapers practically handed your cause righteousness in their omnicidal arrogance.**_"

Shepard smiled, and leaned against a tall crate. "Well I'm glad it didn't take you long to find it. Motivations are important."

"_**In the long term, as important as that which you're trying to achieve.**_"

"Exactly..." She stood impressed. "You sound like you're talking from experience."

He looked away, reluctant. "**_..._**_**As do you.**_"

"Yeah, but you know I chose to save the Council, even at the cost of human lives. I think you understand the weight of that. But I know jack-shit about you, pardon my _fran__çais_."

He got quiet again. "_**...I'll be prepared when the time comes.**_"

That didn't surprise her. "Yeah, I don't doubt that." She sighed. "Look, I don't like telling my crew what to do on their free time, so take what I'm about to say as advice, not an order."

His hand slipped down to his side, and he eyed her curiously.

"Get out of this place, would ya? Talk to the crew, get to know them. They're going to be your brothers-and-sisters-in-arms. This'll be _our_ mission, not just yours, or mine. And this lone wolf shit doesn't help anyway. You'll just keep getting stuck inside your head, with all your worries... and should-have-beens... and what-to-dos, or whatever else have you. You don't want to talk to me, that's fine. Just do yourself a favor, alright? You deserve it. And don't worry about the crew, they'll open up."

When he peered at her, it felt as though he was weighing her intentions. "_**What makes you think **_**that **_**matters?**_"

She shrugged. "If strangers never mattered to you, there would've been a lot more innocents lying dead on the floor of that residential building. At least, that's the way I see it."

The Courier stilled at that. He stared for a while, only mildly stunned. But that was enough to surprise him in introspection, and that surprise made him stay silent even longer, until he finally sighed too, so quietly Shepard almost didn't hear. "_**...Sorry. Mind's been... heavy, and clouded. Lotta things happening, tunnel vision. And about as much obsession as indecision on where to start on trying to get back home. Vicious cycle.**_"

She nodded sympathetically. "You don't gotta apologize to me. It's yourself you're fucking over with that."

If her message got through, he didn't react to it. "_**Usually know enough about social interactions to strafe round questions, 'stead of getting so defensive. Don't worry, not my wont to have a stick up my asshole.**_"

A loud and sudden snort from Jane preluded an even louder laughter.

Alarmed and clueless, the Courier stared at her, looking around awkwardly on occasion.

She covered her mouth trying to seal the laughter in, but failed, and the mirthful sound rang throughout the hold.

Though he didn't admit it, the Courier much preferred it to the silence and his thoughts. "_**I say that wrong?**_" He rubbed his neck, almost sheepishly.

She nodded, removing her hand to reveal a beautiful grin. "It's... just... 'up the ass.' 'Asshole' makes it a bit more obscene than it has to be." Her voice and shoulders shook as she spoke.

"**_I see_**_**. Sorry.**_"

Her hand waved it off. "Don't sweat it." Jane definitely didn't mind. A tension in the air from all the serious talk faded, and they both breathed easier. She noticed his broad, plated shoulders relax.

**_"...I'll... try, Commander, to follow your advice. For myself, and to repay the favor, tell you what you want to know."_**

Shepard smiled, stifling the eagerness, that threatening jolt, so that her face wouldn't split in a wide grin. "I look forward to it, Courier."

Not a bad note to leave on, so that's what Shepard did.

The Courier grunted softly, bowed his head, and turned back to the crate.

When she left, and the sound of the elevator doors shutting behind her echoed through the hold, the Courier was sat alone in silence.

The thoughts and memories and worries started faintly, as they always did - but then quickly they wouldn't shut up, stop shouting, stop whispering, growling, barking like mad mongrels in his head, tearing away at her-

He slammed a hand on the crate, and breathed through his nose.

_Calm. They've always been here. It's just barks, the bite's already happened, and you survived it. She didn't, but you did._

Maybe it wasn't the loudest they'd been recently, at least not really. Maybe they'd been there all along, and he just hadn't realized it until the Commander pointed them out, made him realize just how debilitating they were, how much they blinded him.

And here, in this world, they were all he had anymore...

He hated the realization.

Hate. What had it ever done but leave him all alone with the mongrels?

* * *

_**Hours later...**_

Mordin's enthusiasm had her smiling unerringly.

After Garrus and the Courier, Shepard realized something important. What the crew needed, that had been neglected thus far, was to air their thoughts, even better to their commander, if they were to be effective on this mission. It could very well be their last, and considering each of them were volunteers she damn well owed them that much.

Having it be their CO would be encouraging, inspiring even, Shepard had found ever since she became a leader.

Guess it had to do with the human of it all (or whatever sapient species you were). It was easier to remember why you were throwing yourself into hell and again, when your life wasn't just orders, but also people who worried and smiled just like you did.

The notion wasn't entirely self-less, either. Jane had to remember she had reason to suffer. The pain had to be worth it. Seeing the smiles, whatever the reason they formed, helped.

And to her fortune, her conversation with Mordin was far more uplifting than the one she had with Garrus, and some spirit returned to her, especially after the effect she seemed to have on the Courier.

As for Mordin, his skills alone were worth his spot in her crew, but his altruistic view of the world and the so-firm sense of right and wrong he had conveyed made his company a pleasure. She wasn't too shy to admit it to him either.

To his credit, the doctor received her praise humbly.

Still, pleasant company or not, he made her wonder more often than not.

"You know something?" she asked him. "Aria told me what you did on Omega, gunning down mercs who tried to extort you. Just what kind of work did you do in the STG? Couldn't have just been research."

The salarian smiled. "Wasn't. Several recon missions, covert, high-risk. Served under young captain named Kirrahe."

"No shit? I worked with a Kirrahe on Virmire, guy was STG. He helped me take out Saren's cloning facility."

"Heard he was a part of that! Jury-rigged explosive? Always got job done with limited resources," he announced, almost proudly. "Good captain."

"That he is. So what'd you do under him?"

"Studied krogan genophage together. Took water, tissue samples from krogan colonies."

Something fired off in her brain.

Jane crossed her arms. "And just what were the salarian STG doing studying the genophage?"

Mordin's words did not hesitate, but his eyes fell the slightest.

"Krogan rebellions bloody, dangerous. Nearly as bad as rachni attacks."

His eyes rose again, and she saw something that she didn't expect.

Regret.

"All species evolve, adapt, mutate. If genophage weakens, need to be prepared."

She stilled her eyes from narrowing with suspicion, steadied her voice. "What was the STG preparing to do?"

"Military schematics for likely krogan population growth. Political scenarios for attack points. Genophage reduced krogan numbers. Species aggression unchecked. Population explosion would be disastrous. STG helped check the Krogan Rebellions. Needed to be ready to do the same. Simple recon. Nothing to worry about."

_Nothing to worry about? _What bullshit.

"Don't believe me?" he said at her stare.

"I get the feeling you're omitting something," she confessed.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She knew how to read salarians enough to distinguish it as not suspicion, but interest.

Shepard raised her hands disarmingly. "But okay. That's fine. I won't pry. Not naive like I used to be. The krogan had brought the disease on themselves. They were the aggressors."

It was a test, and while Mordin nodded, for some reason he didn't seem pleased. That was good.

"But that didn't make me hate it any less," she resumed, making clear her stance on the matter. "The genophage is an abomination."

"Absolutely," Mordin said. "A _necessary_ abomination... but an abomination."

That was comforting – his behavior helped dispel the damning suspicion in her head.

She uncrossed her arms, and gestured her head, "Good talking to you, Mordin. I should go."

He nodded, returned to his research completely silent.

When she went to the mess and saw most of the crew there, she was surprised to find Miranda having joined them.

"Glad to see you hanging out with the crew, Lawson," Shepard said, drawing the table's attention. She quickly filled her tray and joined them.

Miranda nodded as she took her seat. "Decided you were right, Shepard. One can only be so productive to the mission rifling through reports."

"That's good. Right reasons are as important as the thing they motivate."

"You could turn that into a quote," Joker said from somewhere.

"Nah, too drawn out to be a quote." She looked around. "Where are you?"

A hand pointed up in the air. "Over here." Unsurprisingly, he was at the other end of the table.

That wasn't a bad thing on its own, except that Garrus had noticed Jeff moved his seat slightly away from her every time she sat down. It was a heartbreaking revelation – her friend, avoiding her.

But Garrus was adamant that either he must've had good reason, or the turian himself was imagining things. She hoped it was the latter, because the only good reason she could think of was that he knew she wasn't herself.

"How far from Purgatory, Joker?" she asked, watching his behavior closely.

"With EDI at the helm, we should get there in about one and a half hours." Weird. He didn't seem to be unnerved by her in any way, and when they first reunited he seemed so happy to see her. Matter of fact, he actually seemed... relieved?

"Who's going to join you on the ground, Shepard?" Garrus' voice turned her head.

_Like you don't know. _"I need people experienced in dealing with these mercs if something goes wrong. That means you and Zaeed."

"Shepard and Vakarian, back in business, huh?" Garrus raised his glass, and she her empty one. Jane couldn't help smiling as she looked back ahead, and took a bite of her sandwich.

"Bloody Blue Suns," grumbled Zaeed before a slurping sound reached her ears. Then it stopped. "Purgatory will have the worst of them."

Shepard looked around, and froze when she found him slurping on a straw sticking out of a tall glass of something pink-red.

"Wha'sh thah?" she mumbled with her mouth full.

Zaeed stopped his slurping, and cocked an eyebrow. "A strawberry milkshake."

She swallowed. "Yeah, I can see that. Where'd you get it from?"

"The Citadel. Where else?"

Jane frowned. "Why didn't you report in to say you were leaving the ship?"

"I didn't. I ordered it. There's this human place on Zakera Ward, you can order almost anything sweet in existence from it. Milkshake, slushee. Heaven, that place."

"I'm just surprised it's the grizzled merc sitting here sipping daintily at a milkshake straw," Joker interjected.

That comment was _not_ to Zaeed's liking. "And what the fuck would you know about what mercs like to drink, huh!? Go on, give your expert opinion, you numpty!"

"Nothing, nothing! I know nothing!"

"That's what I thought." He went back to sipping his milkshake _in a very manly manner_. "Cunt."

Shepard's demeanor cracked into a laughing one, and the crew joined her, those that didn't try hard not to like Lawson.

Joker acted grumpy at being the butt of the joke, but she noticed that it was an act, and was glad he could be good-humored around her.

"I'm surprised, Shepard. I had expected you would bring the Courier," Miranda commented, and everyone suddenly looked at Jane.

"Nah, not yet."

Most everyone was disappointed. Miranda was surprised. "Why not? He seemed to be more than efficient in dealing with mercs on Omega."

"Because he's going to hand in a resumé, so to speak. I'm not putting someone in my squad I don't know how to use."

The crew of a sudden plunged into discussion, and she heard more than one mention of his energy weapons.

Shepard sighed.

"Commander Shepard," EDI interjected, silencing the crew with her surprising appearance.

"What is it, EDI?"

"The Courier acknowledged to me personally that his absence these past few days may have been frustrating for the crew and yourself. And he considers the exchange of information thus far to be unfair."

She frowned - this was going somewhere.

"The Courier is of the opinion that while he has had access to information about the crew's background, you have had no way of discovering anything about him. To rectify this, he has sent me audio files of significant interest."

"What audio?" came a voice from behind Shepard, and she turned around.

"Doc!" She grinned.

"Commander Shepard." Karin returned a smile at the warm reception.

Jane was grateful her avoidance hadn't been taken in a bad way - she just wasn't sure her sanity could survive trying to make sense of her dream this soon after everything, so she'd given the subject, and the Doc, a wide berth, even as the guilt worsened.

"Come on, have a seat."

Encouragingly, the doctor took it without hesitation.

"They are recordings from several broadcast of the same radio station, Karin," EDI answered to her question.

Karin's eyes widened. "Do you mean to say you have recordings of a radio station from his world?"

The table murmured.

"Yes. It is named _Radio New Vegas_, and its news reporting is localized to its eponymous city and the Mojave region surrounding the city."

"Play one of the files, EDI," Shepard said immediately.

"Which one do you want me to play?"

"The first one," she rattled off, too eager to care, "Just play it."

"Do you want me to play it for the crewmen throughout the ship as well?"

"Sure, yeah."

The table went silent when EDI did.

Suddenly, the audio startled them.

"–_a kick, in the heeeeaaaaad!_" The sudden song took several by surprise. Its climactic trumpet finish descended into complete silence.

Then, a voice aged like fine wine and smooth like butter swept into their ears with undeniable charm. "_You're listening to Radio New Vegas, your little jukebox in the Mojave Wasteland. _I _am Mr. New Vegas, and I'm here for you. We've got some news stories coming right up._"

Everyone perked up their ears.

Especially Shepard.

"_Refugees at Bitter Springs are giving startling accounts of the legate known as Lanius who is said to be Caesar's top field commander. One refugee told us the legate took over an underperforming squad of troops by beating its commander to death in full view of everyone._"

"Jesus," said Joker.

"_The legate then ordered a tenth of his own force be killed by the other nine tenths._"

"Decimation," she and Miranda realized at the same time.

It was a historical martial punishment. Used in the ancient roman legions.

That, the legate called Lanius, and "Caesar"?

It was an absurd thing to hear from the Courier, about slavers dressing up as ancient romans, but hearing it now from another source. It fucked with her. It felt exhilarating and surreal.

"_And you thought _your_ boss was a pain._"

Jane scoffed quietly to herself as some chuckled.

"_I've got one more story for you._"

The crew were taken aback by the unexpected addition.

"_A__ package courier found shot in the head near Goodsprings has reportedly _regained consciousness_, and has made a full recovery. Now _that's _a delivery service you can count on._"

Taken aback with wide eyes, Shepard saw everyone was as shocked as she was.

_Benny was here... _

Vaguely, but unmistakably, all the snippets she'd learned about the Courier and his world were starting to fall into place.

Mr. New Vegas continued orating with an unending stream of charisma toward more musical scores, but that faded into the background as the table broke out into discussion.

"Man after my own heart," Zaeed commented as he traced a finger along the twice-arched scar on his face.

"EDI, how many more audio files do you have?" Miranda asked.

"More two-hundred recordings that stretch over two years and six months from the day of the first recording. The Courier sent specific recordings that contain relevant information to his background. Namely, they are news covers of events which he claims to have partaken in or influenced. With the Commander's permission, the Courier will allow all crew-members to receive copies of these files as well."

"Commander?" Chakwas said.

"Yeah, sure... Go ahead..." Then all of a sudden, she stood up, and left for her room.

On the elevator ride up, her omni-tool pinged as she received the files.

Jane stared at them, before bringing her other hand to them.

"_Hello, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. New Vegas here. You're all so great and we're gonna keep you listening all day._"

She sat down on her bed, staring ahead in amazement.

"_I've got some news for you. Goodsprings has fended off a mob of escaped convicts after organizing an impromptu militia..._"

* * *

_**Later that day**_

Garrus knew a word for the feeling, but he forgot what it was.

Nostalgia? Satisfaction? Nostalgic satisfaction? No, that was two words.

Whatever its name, he felt it when Jane joined him in the bridge in combat-ready gear. A Viper at her left shoulder to match his, Mattock at the right, grenade-launcher in the middle, a Carnifex at her hip, and to finish it off, a Katana at the small of her back.

Her eyes were deadly focused, even without targets in front of her.

"You look ready for action," he told her.

"'Cause of the guns?" she teased dryly.

"Because you don't look catatonic like you do listening to those radio broadcasts." It was obvious they affected her, somehow more than the others. Garrus just didn't know why. "It feels like you're back."

She smiled with a frown, not understanding. "What are you talking about? I was always here."

"Shepard, EDI alerted me because she thought you were having a... 'despondent reaction'. Apparently it's not the first time you've had one, and the last time was when you found the Courier out in space."

She sighed and waved it off, trying to act casual. "It's nothing, I was just-"

"Look," he said, "It's alright if you don't wanna talk about it, but don't treat me like I'm crazy here or something." A flash of pain on her face stunned him for a moment. Was it something he said? "Look, I've got your back. You know that, right?"

"I know," she smiled. But somehow Shepard, the most composed person Garrus knew, could not hide her sadness.

"So, what's the plan?" Zaeed entered, much to her relief.

Garrus cursed internally. He'd have to ask what's going on with her later.

"We go in, get Jack, and get out."

"What, that's it? You think it'll be that simple?"

She shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Have you forgotten what you saw on Omega?" The merc looked at Garrus in disbelief, who smiled.

"If you're trying to imply the inevitable double-cross these mercs no doubt are planning, let me ease your mind," she said. "They try anything, we go in, get Jack, and get out. A few more spent clips and dead bodies in our wake doesn't need planning for."

Massani's astonishment turned to a smirk.

When the Normandy finished docking in Purgatory, they departed from the frigate and into a metal, tunnel-sized hallway. Its walls were coated drab-olive or grey, and some spots had paint chipped off.

When they approached the trio of Blue Sun guards at the dock entrance, Garrus felt like he hadn't left Omega at all. "Welcome to Purgatory, Shepard," the speaker greeted. "Your package is being prepped, and you can claim it shortly. As this is a high-security vessel, you'll need to relinquish your weapons before we proceed."

To his surprise, Shepard's composure was absent, and her displeasure was transparent. "Not happening, sorry to say."

"Everyone stand down," said a voice, and turian from whom it came entered the hall. "Commander, I'm Warden Kuril, and this is my ship. Your weapons will be returned on the way out. You must realize this is standard procedure."

"This isn't a standard meeting."

Their staring contest was short, but if there was anything in Kuril's glare, he didn't doubt Jane would have seen it.

"Let them proceed," the Warden relented. "Our facility is more than secure enough to handle three armed guests."

"Exactly." Her smile was as mocking as her tone. "You've got nothing to worry about."

The Warden's look was dangerous when she said that. "We're bringing Jack out of cryo. As soon as the funds clear, you'll be on your way. If you'll follow me to Outprocessing for the pickup, Commander."

"Lead the way."

Kuril gave them a short tour along the way.

"That so?" Shepard responded absently to one of his comments, acting uninterested. But her glance behind stiffened their spines and put them on guard.

"Tell me about Jack," Shepard said.

"Cerberus hasn't told you?" He seemed surprised. "Jack is the meanest handful of violence and hate I've ever encountered. Dangerous, crazy, and _very_ powerful."

"_Clearly you haven't met the Courier_," Shepard muttered, and Garrus chuckled not because of what she said, but that she forgot that Kuril was a turian too and heard what she said just was well as Garrus did.

"And I hope I never will," the Warden said, to her short-lived surprise. "One monster of monsters is enough for an Asari's lifetime."

"Wait, you know about the Courier?"

"You don't know?" Kuril crossed his arms, and scrutinized Shepard very closely. "You'd be hard-pressed to find a person who hasn't heard about him, after that reporter did her piece on him."

Shepard looked back toward Garrus and Zaeed.

They shrugged.

She looked back and said, "Let's get on with this," voice so void Garrus wouldn't even be sure it was her words if he hadn't seen her lips move.

Kuril's eyes lingered a moment too long, before he turned around and guided them on.

"Outprocessing is straight down this hallway. Just keep going past the the interrogation rooms and the supermax wing."

Her wordless stare was unbroken, following him like a predator's.

The Warden eventually broke eye contact. "I'll catch up with you later..." he said, the tiniest waver in his voice as he left them there.

And Garrus couldn't blame him. Even he hadn't seen her like that before.

"I'm sure you will."

They went through the hallway, and turned a corner. There, a banging noise and cries of pain echoed. Just around the next corner they came upon the cellblock where an inmate was being viciously beaten.

Garrus growled at the sight. "You don't even get good information that way. After a point, victims admit to anything to make the pain stop."

Even Zaeed shook his head at the sight. "Regardless of that, no one walks away from torture unchanged. Not the subject, not the torturer himself. Never found torture worth the price, myself."

"These scumbags don't seem to have that problem."

"And they haven't for a long time."

Shepard didn't say a word. Didn't flinch in composure or expression at the sight. That shocked him.

But Garrus took small comfort and relief relieved when she seemed to care enough to approach.

"Is there something I can do for you?" the guard watching asked.

She kept staring as the other guard brutalized the prisoner. "What's the point of this?"

"Justice, I guess," he said, and it didn't sound like his own words. "This is a massage compared to what his victims went through."

"No doubt. I want you to stop."

"What?" The guard looked at her dangerously.

"I want you to stop."

"Why?"

"I don't need to explain, because unlike you I'm not asking."

The Blue Sun scoffed, and faced her, looming. "We're in a high security facility with guns and cameras everywhere. And you're threatening me?"

She turned her head, locked onto his eyes through the glow of his visor.

And she just stared.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven seconds, and the guard got a little less taller, backed off a step. "Call it off," he said to his friend.

The thumping noise finally stopped. The torturer shot him a confused look, but backed off immediately when Shepard's eyes moved over him.

Then, not sparing them another glance, Shepard continued on down the hall, and they followed. Garrus's shoulders a little lighter.

They arrived in a waiting area, where it was awfully empty with only one technician working at a monitor.

"Hey." Shepard approached the man.

"Can I help you?"

Her eyes were curious. "Mind pointing me to Outprocessing?"

Garrus frowned in confusion. It was right ahead, wasn't it?

"Sure, on the other side of the room." Commander Shepard looked to where he pointed, then back to the tech.

"Show me."

As confused as Garrus was, the technician hesitantly pointed again to the only other door beside the one they came from.

Shepard just stared.

"Show me."

"Right there, Commander," the tech trembled, not understanding.

"Commander?" she asked.

"...Y-yeah. You're Shepard... Aren't you?"

"I am." Her blank stare set off Garrus' turian instincts. "How did you know?" she asked.

"W-What?"

"How did you know who I am?"

"I... uh..."

"You're just a technician. You have no business knowing."

The tech's breath got shallower and panicked. Got paler with every drop of sweat that ran down his neck and forehead.

What the hell was happening?

Suddenly a smile split Shepard's face, and it was devoid of mirth – a doll's caricature. Disturbing, and not at all like Shepard. "That's because word gets around fast. Why wouldn't you hear if the first human Spectre was coming to your ship?"

The tech frantically nodded, trembling, "R-right. Of course."

Her smile disappeared as suddenly as it appeared. "It took you a long time to give me such a simple answer. Inexperienced liars always assume they're caught the moment they're questioned."

The understanding came suddenly. "Fuck," Zaeed grit out. Garrus and the merc pivoted, eyes and guns sweeping about the room.

"They don't think up an obvious answer quickly," Shepard continued unarmed, "because they have to create one. They don't prepare. The only tell Warden Kuril didn't have was hesitance. But he's not as good a liar as he thinks."

The tech blanched until his skin was lifeless. "Oh god... Am I going to die?"

The fist struck his jaw and his head smashed against the console, as three teeth scattered away, before the human hit the ground _hard._

"Spirits!" Garrus exclaimed.

Shepard looked down at the tech as she popped her knuckles, satisfied with herself. "He won't tell a lie properly for a few weeks."

"A few months, more like," Massani quipped, staring down with a cocked brow.

Garrus couldn't speak.

It was not the first time she had been ruthless, but this guy was innocent for all she knew. Garrus didn't understand.

He was afraid for her, because the satisfaction Garrus recognized in her eyes was the kind he fought so long not to fall prey to, the kind that turned the vigilantes and the righteous into vicious killers, because they enjoyed the righteous satisfaction too much. But that satisfaction is what corrupts, enables cruelties that worsen over time.

Something was going on with her. He hated that this wasn't the time to find out what, so he could only shut up and pull out his Viper, as a voice came over the speakers. "My apologies, Shepard. You're more valuable as a prisoner than a customer. I can see you won't give up without a fight, but I warn you: unless you want to die today, on this ship, you will lay down your weapons! You won't be harmed if you comply!"

Garrus was relieved to see at least _some_ emotion on Shepard's face – because he now knew it was rage simmering beneath the surface.

"Fucking mercs!" she bellowed with a hateful scowl. "You have any idea what's coming for us all?! And you wanna make some easy cash!? Opportunism?!"

"Activate systems!" Kuril commanded without responding.

"You fucking vultures!" she barked, and suddenly her Mattock was in hand.

Outprocessing's exit sealed shut, and heavy movement echoed behind them from the hall.

"Get in position!" she ordered them suddenly, and ducked behind a bench, shouldering her Mattock. "Massani, on the other side. Garrus, I want you at range behind us with an angle in the door. We're fighting our way out."

"In and out, Shepard," Massani reminded. "Simple, right? In and out."

"Not before I get my hands on this piece of shit Warden."

The stampede of armored feet got loud behind the sealed door.

Garrus took a knee behind the bench, stabilized the Viper atop, and peered through its scope.

His eyes whirled one last time toward his friend's scowling profile, before looking back through the scope, breathing.

The door opened, and he pulled the trigger as blue filled his scope.

* * *

_**Meanwhile...**_

Surprised the Courier was not to hear Mr. New Vegas' voice.

Time felt paradoxical to him – it was as though he'd been here long enough that Old-World tunes and Radio New Vegas made him nostalgic, but not nearly long enough to feel anything but alone and lost in this strange place of spacetravel and primordial machines and people he didn't know.

But he had to start somewhere on changing that.

Not a single step out of the elevator and into the CIC was needed to see a crewman, some redhead, leaning on her dashboard at the Galaxy Map as a recording of Mr. New Vegas' old charm segued into a song.

"I don't know what's more captivating; the happenings of New Vegas or Mr. New Vegas himself," the girl said aloud.

"_No kidding._" He recognized the chuckling voice from her monitor's speakers – Gabriella the Engineer. "_I'm one charismatic remark away from buying him a drink._"

"_Nevermind the old man!_" Kenneth's foreign accent was unmistakable. "_Don't you realize what that news-report means? EDI said all these recordings are relevant to the Courier's background – that means he had something to do with the impromptu militia._"

"_No, it doesn't. __It's just relevant because he got shot outside of Goodsprings. That doesn't mean he had a hand in what happened._"

"_**It does.**_"

The red-haired girl gasped, spinning around with a hand on her chest.

It was clear he'd surprised the Engineers as well. "_Crivvens! You're not even here and you're scaring us shitless!_"

"_**Voice does that.**_" His whole look did that. Didn't apologize – his mask was made to terrify; draw the eye, and widen it with fear.

He didn't mind the occasional side-effects outside of combat like this. Not really.

"Nice t-to finally meet you, Courier. I'm Yeoman Kelly Chambers." The woman before him cleared her quivering throat and held out a hand.

Her welcome was warm, if somewhat afeared. He stared at her surprised, but he noticed her hesitance and abruptly accepted it before she took it the wrong way. "_**Thanks.**_"

She smiled, her anxiety faded more quickly than he'd expected. "I have to say, I'm surprised to see you here. You've been somewhat reclusive, if you don't mind my saying."

"_**Your saying's kind – been diving headfirst into datapads and extranet sites about Reapers and Collectors these past days.**_"

"_Nothing wrong with that,_" Kenneth said from the speaker. "_We're the ones diving headfirst into the Reapers and Collectors themselves, if that makes you feel any better._"

"_Stop eavesdropping on the post-apocalyptic survivalist, Kenneth!_" Gabby scolded.

"_Whoops._"

The connection was promptly severed.

Kelly smiled sheepishly, apology in her eyes. "Sorry about that."

He held up a calming hand. "_**No harm in it.**_"

"Well, I am glad to see you come up here to, I presume socialize?"

He nodded. "_**At Shepard's advice. Thought it sounded wiser than what I was doing.**_" Which was despairing futilely. "**_And I'm just introducing myself._**"

"It's good to go at your own pace," she reassured kindly.

He looked around, and saw a few crewmembers at their post peeking their heads up in his direction.

"_**They're... curious.**_"

"Are you surprised?"

"_**Thought I'd be met with more hostility.**_"

"I won't lie. If you decided to come up here before two days ago, you probably would have. But people have eased up on old wounds after you turned out to be telling the truth. Don't be turned away if they're a bit reluctant."

"_**If reluctance was enough to deter, I'd never talk to anyone wearing this mask.**_"

Her mirth was cute and jocund. "I suppose that's true!" His lips twitched with a small smile. "Well, if you have any questions, Courier, don't hesitate to ask them."

"**_I won't, then._**" The Courier nodded his gratitude.

Before he left for the third level, he introduced himself in the normal custom - shaking hands and exchanging names. Of course, he only ever called himself 'the Courier'.

Down in the third level, he recognized the hallway where he had been greeted with two rows of gun muzzles staring at him – one kneeling and the other standing. It was empty now.

He walked through it, and noticed the place seemed like he had never set foot there before. Not a stain of blood on the floor or a trace where he had been thrown around by Miranda Lawson.

Speaking of, she was the one he was looking for right now.

Mid-way to her room, the door before him opened predictingly, and the Courier stepped inside without pause.

Miranda was sat at her desk, a look of natural focus on her fine visage. "Yes?" He neglected to speak, and she looked up. Her blue eyes were surprised to see him, but they did not widen, in an admirable display of restraint. "Courier."

"_**Miranda Lawson.**_"

"I'm surprised to see you here," she admitted. "What can I help you with?"

"**_...Uh, n_**_**othing. Introducing myself to the crew. First impressions were less than adequate, so I thought it prudent to rectify.**_"

When she smiled, it was like watching an Old-World beauty-magazine cover come to life.

"Mildly put." She stood up, and approached. "Well, as you likely are already aware, I'm Shepard's second-in-command. I'm pleased to hear that you have joined the mission." She held out a hand, and he shook it, firmly, savvy to how strong she could be. "Welcome aboard."

"_**Gratitude...**_"

She eyed him peculiarly. "You sound apprehensive."

"**_What you hear is _**_**surprise. Keep expecting hostility, but instead, I'm greeted at all.**_"

She slid gracefully to her chair and sat down, and laid one leg over the other as she peered out into space through her window. "Nervosity, I would certainly expect from the crew-members. But you won't find hostility from anyone. Most of them softened up when they learned you were telling the truth. " She saw him still standing, and gestured to the couch. "Have a seat."

He sat down.

"If I'm not mistaken, our Commander gave orders for you to be allowed access to our files and that of Cerberus'."

He nodded with a grunt.

She smirked at the sound. "I was curious to hear your perspective on Cerberus."

"_**Pro-human, for a fact. However, haven't been able to discover undeniable evidence of accused xenophobia, so I'm reserving judgement on that front. Other than that, it's an organization that takes action while beaurucrats sit on their asses.**_"

She smiled. "That's more open-minded than most people are with Cerberus." He didn't comment any further, so she deduced he hadn't had time to read much more. "And what do you make of me?"

He cocked his head, pondered, before deciding 'why not?'. "_**Think there's a reason this Illusive Man put you in charge of resurrecting a dead woman.**_"

She kept watching him expectantly, but now with a cocked eyebrow.

"**_Proven s_**_**marter than most two people, though sometimes I doubt the merit of the comparison considering some people I've had the displeasure of meeting.**_" There was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "_**Also dangerous enough that I'd make the effort not to piss you off, as opposed to... commonplace caution. Been a long time someone knocked me down.**_"

"Attempting to flatter me, are you?" she said, still smiling.

The Courier shook his head. "_**Telling you what I make of you. Might be wrong, probably right. **__**And I?**_**" **he asked her suddenly. "**_You l_**_**istened to the recordings.**_" He could see Miranda's interest in him as clearly as he could see through the water in this world.

"Well, one thing I can think of immediately is that you're far better spoken than I could ever have expected of someone from your background. Now that we've established that, there's still the matter of the person that you are." Her eyes searched him with a ponderous hum, and she leaned forward. "Difficult to extrapolate. Frankly, there's more charm than context to Mr. New Vegas' commentary, and without your input it's unclear how you've had a hand in these events in the broadcasts. But if you were a part of half of the ones I've had time to listen to... I expect you'd be an excellent addition to the team. But then, considering what I saw on the Blue Sun captain's helmet-cam, I'd be a fool not to expect that."

He recoiled straight in surprise. "**_Blue Sun_**_**?**_"

She hummed with a nod. "I managed to hack a copy from one of Doctor Solus' assistants on Omega. They had a back-door into Blue Sun comms, and they caught your saving of the residents. Ah! and on that subject..." Miranda removed her leg from atop the other, stood, and circled her desk to pick up something. "I almost forgot. I took the liberty of checking up on the survivors through Cerberus contacts. You seemed interested in their welfare, going so far as to personally threaten Aria T'Loak of all people." She held out a datapad. "You can thank the Illusive Man. He gave me permission to keep tabs on the survivors and to share with you any information gathered on them."

He took it gingerly, with great surprise.

The eyes beneath the helmet's unmoving ones swept through the report. Good news all around – the Blue Suns purged the rogue elements entirely, though this mystery benefactor hadn't been identified yet – and the survivors were getting medical attention, food, and shelter. All in a show to boost Aria's reputation, but as long as the survivors were taken care of the Courier would not punish that.

But there was still something missing, something he needed to know. "_**There was a girl–**_"

"Ariel Emmett," Miranda sprung on him suddenly, smoothly. "The girl in your arms."

The words were caught in his chest.

_Little critter..._

"Father was Mason Emmett, mother Helen Emmett, née Chun. Aria's men ID:ed the parents' bodies, unfortunately, but the Roarkes have taken Ariel in, and she has been seeing a child psychiatrist whom I made sure was vetted."

He stared at her stunned. "**_The _**_**Roarkes?**_"

"Liam Roarke, Sarah Roarke, and Raleigh Roarke. They've become something of a de facto spokespeople of the survivors. Liam has been vocal and firm in demanding reparations."

Courier was impressed – demanding things of Aria? Liam had more backbone than he first realized.

The Courier looked up, and met her eyes earnestly. "_**You have my gratitude for this.**_"

She sat down at her desk, and nodded. "Your gratitude _should _go to the Illusive Man. But you're welcome."

He savored the comfort she had given him. Then, he bowed his head, and turned to leave.

"You can do something for me, you know."

The Courier smiled.

Of course.

"_**And how can I help you?**_" he asked, turning around.

"I'd enjoy a more extensive conversation with you. All I ask is you simply consider my door open, and feel but a touch of obligation to humor me with talks."

He lazed a forearm atop his revolver. "_**I can do that without being asked to.**_"

Miranda smiled, "Then I'll consider you still in my debt."

"_**You do that,**_" he said, voice smiling. Then he gestured a wave of goodbye. "_**'Till next time, Ms. Lawson.**_"

"Until next time, Courier."

His smile didn't fall when he left.

As far as new beginnings, that went better than he had expected.

* * *

So either Cerberus had _really_ gone to town upgrading Shepard with implants and cybernetics, or she was _really_ pissed off.

Worst part was, Garrus couldn't discern which.

Worst part of for the enemy was, it was probably both.

Garrus had seen her training records in the Villa - Shepard excelled in every weapon she got her hands on after the Skyllian Blitz.

But now she seemed superhuman, lightning-fast and simply _unable_ to miss a shot at any range thus far.

God forbid the mercs ever poked their heads out, because if his didn't then her Viper blew a hole clean through them.

If they somehow managed to get mid-range, she'd pull out her Mattock and ruthlessly drained their shields before systematically putting two in the chest and one in the head – _without fail._

And in spite of this, not one Blue Sun dared to get any closer even if they had the chance because they saw what happened to the other guy that did – her omni-blade would unfurl, and if they got lucky the orange crescents of her swift swings would kill them. The unlucky ones got their limbs severed before she finished them.

The luckiest ones had their heads exploded by her Katana.

Needless to say, it didn't take long before they reached Jack.

"Bloody hell, the Commander's on a fucking rampage!" Zaeed exclaimed beside him. "Warden must've really pissed her off."

"Can't say I've seen her like this before..." Garrus muttered.

"Come on, we're almost at the security console," Shepard said on the comms.

They fell in behind her as the door opened. She readied the Katana at the waist.

When it opened, a terrified technician spun around, the pistol flashing against the light.

The flash of her Katana's muzzle was quicker though. She didn't so much as blinked as she blasted him all over the window.

Shepard approached the console. "Get ready. This'll open every other cell, too."

"That'll make for a hell of a distraction," Garrus noted.

Through the blood-smeared window, they saw the mechanical arm dig into a buried pod, and twist. The pod hissed as it was raised slowly.

When they saw Jack, their eyes widened.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding," Shepard said. "_That's_ Jack?"

"A slender thing, isn't she?" Zaeed commented.

"Well she's certainly not what I expected," Garrus admitted.

A slim, half-naked woman with more tattoos than clothes was clasped to a metal bed.

Her eyes slammed wide open, and she tugged at her restraints to realize where she was. The anger came as naturally and quickly as her breathing did, and to their surprise she managed to break loose of the metal clasps with only a few tugs.

Suddenly free, her feet stumbled beneath her and she caught herself falling forward. The crust of frost on her skin cracked, fell from her body. The frost scattered across the floor, waking the three YMIR mechs in the room.

Shepard saw each of them them turn to her, guns readying.

"Shit."

Jack eyed the three mechs, and rage contorted her face - but to their disbelief the small woman charged the YMIR in the middle, and her entire form flared with swimming biotic energy.

Before it could react, she reached the mech, and the explosion shook the whole floor beneath them.

Even before Garrus realized what happened, Shepard's hand pulled him up. "Off your ass! We've gotta catch up!"

* * *

"_Primm has formally sworn in a new sheriff today. RNV reporters were on hand to hear the new sheriff address the crowd._" The familiar voice of a protectron spoke, "_'Loading public appeasement oration... complete. Howdy citizens! How about a Yee-Haw for law and order in the fine town of [ERROR: TOKEN NOT FOUND].'_"

Snickers and chuckles rang from the table, until they looked over their shoulders, and saw the Courier's dreadfully-armored form towering above them.

"You know that robot?" Joker asked.

"**_Primm Slim_**_**.**_"

They were incredulous at hearing the name.

"Primm Slim!?" The pilot was grinning. "A robot sheriff. Man, your world sounds awesome. What other kind of robots are there?"

"_**If you know how to reprogram them, can make just about any kind, to varying effectiveness. If you're talking actual models made... Fewer. Primm Slim is a Protectron.**_"

His eyes widened, "Protectron!? They've even got names like they're from a movie!" He looked up, "Hey, EDI, why can't you be interesting like the robots from the Courier's world?"

The Courier frowned.

"Be nice, Joker," said the dark-skinned soldier, Jacob Taylor. "Don't mind him, EDI."

Joker continued. "Seriously, god forbid I ever make a tiny adjustment in _any way_, Mecha-Hitler threatens to report me."

"I was not threatening, Mr. Moreau, I was warning. You were deliberately falsifying maintenance reports."

"Not falsifying, _tweaking_."

The Courier shook his head. "_**You handle an A.I. like a Yao Guai walks on stilts.**_"

"Wow. I don't even have to know what a Yogi is to know that's an insult."

"_**Your intuition for linguistic pragmatics is astounding.**_"

The pilot's friends snorted and laughed, and even Jacob was chuckling.

"_**Is the doctor in the medbay?**_" the Courier asked. He glanced it the moment he left Miranda's room, but the blinds blocked his view of the inside.

"Why?" Before anyone else had a chance to answer, Joker's demand sounded.

"_**I want to talk to her.**_"

The pilot stared. "Why?"

Recalling Karin's loyalty for her friends, he was surprised not one whit by Joker's stubbornness. "_**I owe her. Even more than I owe the rest of you.**_"

He stared a few tense, wordless moments more. "Yeah. She's there."

The Courier nodded and as he made his way to the medbay, his respect for the pilot wavered just as the pilot's gaze did: not at all.

When he entered, the doctor had her back turned toward him, but looked at the sound of the door opening.

Karin froze with a quiet gasp, but the Courier instantly moved to soothe her, with hands held up harmlessly. "**_It's alright_**_**. Calm down.**_"

"Courier," she greeted with a waver in her voice. She said something, but what came out different than what either expected. "That was certainly not the name I imagined for you."

_Not the first doctor to tell me that. _"**_More a title nowadays than my profession._**"

She nodded absently. "I imagine one wouldn't remain long in that line of work after... what happened to you happens."

He let his hands fall slowly to his sides. "_**I owe you much, Karin.**_"

That surprised her.

"**_Owe g_**_**ratitude, apologies... much more. You were telling the truth.**__** Thank you Karin, for helping me. And I'm regretful for what I did... to you. I harmed a healer. A grave sin.**_"

Karin regarded him with no little caution, but she wasn't deaf to what he was saying. His hesitance shocked her. Perhaps who she saw explaining why he was keeping his promise to her was the true Courier. Was it born of... religion? "I have been thinking a lot, you should know. Mostly, I've been trying to figure out what kind of man you are. Many descriptors came to mind, and many of them bad... but I don't think 'evil' is one of them. Brutal, however, is." She hesitated. "But, then, considering where you're from... perhaps it's wrong to hold it against you?" Her conflict was clear in aged voice and visage. Karin sighed painfully, "I still hate what you did to the men and women on this ship. You did a horrible thing to decent people. And to a good woman."

"_**I know.**_"

"I'm not talking about myself."

"_**...Shepard.**_"

"Yes. That is your worst sin, Courier. One not even those lives on Omega can absolve you of in my eyes. The galactic weight she bears on her shoulder is too much for any one person, but she bears it regardless. And you mangled her arm."

He grunted absently. Muttered faintly. "_**Don't know her, or if she's good. Will have to take your word for it. **__**If it's true, then I did horrible things to ****two**** good women.**_"

The anger in Karin's scowl softened.

"**_Came here to let you know, _**_**if anyone else on this ship is injured again, I will be here to help you. Repay my debt.**_"

Now there was only surprise. "Help? How do you intend to help me?"

"**_By g_****_iving a hand as a medical assistant, I suppose_**_**.**_"

She couldn't believe the implication, she had to ask. "You have medical training?"

"_**Not officially. Experience was my only teacher. **__**Supposed to give a... resumé? to Shepard when she's back. Can give details then. But I wanted to let you know that the offer stands. Figured I should help relieve the load after all the work I left you with.**_"

Karin was still taken aback by it all - the offer, his experience in healing, of all things.

Just as the Courier would have turned around to leave, a pinging sound stopped him.

Karin held up her omni-tool blinking with a call.

She answered. "What is it, Joker?"

"_Come look at this! That reporter chick snagged Shepard aside for an interview!_"

"When?"

"_Two days ago when __she was on the Citadel with Garrus and the Courier!_"

The doctor immediately jogged to the mess hall where the crew stood gathered, and the Courier followed her.

He kept well behind the crowd that had gathered to watch the screen up on the wall of by the end of the table. Miranda arrived soon after he did, and stood not beside him, but closer to him than anyone else. It did not escape his notice.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Courier spotted Doctor Mordin enter too. _My future colleague. _That'll be fascinating, he's sure.

Joker leaned forward eagerly in his seat, clicking a button on the remote repeatedly. The volume rose, and on the screen a logo of 'Westerlund News' segued to a short-black-haired woman in a blue dress with red-and-gold highlights.

"_Welcome, you are watching Westerlund News. I am your host, Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani._"

"'Bint' is right," said Karin distastefully.

Courier cocked an eyebrow at that. From the scoffs, huffs, and looks of flippancy sent this reporter's way, she was clearly not held in high regard by the Normandy Crew.

Curious. They seemed too loyal for a crew that had only served under Commander Shepard for barely over a week. He would have chalked it up to hero worship, but... there was something too personal about it. Or he could be imagining it.

"_Reports and sightings of the thought-to-be deceased Commander Jane Shepard have recently been confirmed, as the first human Spectre was spotted two days ago on the Citadel entering the Human Embassy._"

A photograph had been taken of the Commander, showing her features defined with an oddly concerned look as she walked the steps to Anderson's building.

"_Following this__, a former member of the renowned Normandy Crew, former C-Sec agent Garrus Vakarian, was observed entering the very same establishment fifteen minutes later. The turian was accompanied by an interesting and shocking acquaintance._"

To the Courier's surprise, the next photograph taken from an angle behind contained not only Garrus, but himself beside the turian, both striding up the very same steps.

The crew-members glanced at him to see his reaction, but they could only see the dreadful mask staring at the screen with red eyes.

Another picture appeared on the screen. This one was taken from the front as they descended the steps.

"_Approximately ten minutes later,_" the reporter resumed, "_the three exited together, and it was then that we identified the human male you see in the photograph wearing black armor and trench-coat as, in fact, a recent emergent on the extranet. The mysterious figure known only as 'The Courier,' recently became famous after an anonymous poster on forums uploaded footage of a massacre in Omega by the mercenary faction known as the Blue Suns._"

Miranda's calm facade broke, and she exclaimed between grit teeth, "Shit!" She stormed angrily past Jacob, whispering, "_Someone leaked it,_" before the door to her room shut behind her.

_Were they trying to keep my identity hidden?_

The Courier would come back to that later, but for now he retired his gaze toward the screen.

"_The video shows the Courier saving victims and reportedly ending the massacre single-handedly. Viewers be warned: the following footage contains disturbing and violent imagery._"

This time the whole crew shared his surprise, as the footage of the mercenary captain's helmet-cam began playing.

The non-combatants of the crew, the engineers and the yeoman among them almost stopped watching when the vid showed the massacre of the residents. The screams were a horror to hear.

But suddenly, Everyone present but for Mordin and the Courier jumped when an explosion sounded and the footage glitched from the EMP he'd activated.

"Goddamn!" Jacob exclaimed, rubbing his ear painfully.

The footage slowly recomposed into something audibly and visually comprehensible, and when the captain turned to what had stunned his soldiers, the crew were entranced by the black figure rising tall.

"_Christ..._" Kenneth sighed in amazement.

"Oh my god," Gabby said, palming her mouth in shock.

The two red eyes beamed into the camera, and in them cruelty ended only with the imagination of the beholder.

But the mercs, drunk on bloodlust and blind to it, strode in their cocksure approach.

Then, like the Courier in the video was playing with man-sized toys, he destroyed, swung, and broke the mercs with his hands and fists. This brutality, the crew did not avert their eyes to. The room was filled with sickening crunches, snaps, breaks, and howls of agony cut short. But not one of them was disgusted by it.

He buried the head of a turian into a wall, slowly turning his head to glare at the captain, and the crew murmured, gasped, or watched in stunned silence.

Suddenly, so fast the speed of the Courier startled them, his fist filled the camera's view, cut the recording dead.

In the silence that followed, the darkness of the screen was slowly lit up with colors, to reveal... _a_ _drawing_?

A drawing of the Courier.

_What is this?_

Well... it was beautiful, for one.

Painted grimly and darkly, he stood in his riot gear fierce and worn and scorched, with whorls of smoke sprouting from his shoulders like ashen wings, an on-the-nose allegory to some vengeful angel by the artist. In one of his gauntleted fist, he clenched up the corpse of a Blue Sun merc by the armor collar, and in the other a revolver not at all resembling his Colt or Remington smoked. At his back, firing a sniper rifle at some unseen foe, was a blue-armored turian with its own wings, blue as its armor and aglow.

...Garrus?

"'_The Courier_', _though still widely-unknown,_ _quickly gained traction on obscure forums. There was much controversy and remains much discussion for such a recent presence. Fan-art of what some call a 'dark hero' are becoming more and more numerous. M__any have also speculated the Courier to be related in some way to another vigilante figure on Omega, a turian known only as Archangel. Could it be a coincidence? The Courier's sighting beside Garrus Vakarian, whose sudden disappearance from the Citadel aligns with the appearance of Archangel one and a half years ago, suggests otherwise._"

"Look at that!" Joker chuckled. "You already got your own fan-club and fan-theories!"

But the Courier, he couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. "_**They... drew me?**_"

"It's a big world out there," said Jacob, "and word gets around fast."

"You're a hero to those people," Kelly said, warmly but not smiling.

"_Though initial opinions were mixed, as some drew attention to his excessive violence, opinions have recently and drastically shifted, as countless users claiming to be Omega residents have stated that the survivors of the massacre on Omega, from whom the moniker of 'the Courier' is believed to have originated, claim the Courier was seen leaving the space station on the SSV Normandy, Commander Shepard's famous frigate of Human-Turian design, reported to have been destroyed in the attack that supposedly killed her. Their presence together on the Citadel confirm these reports, as they predate the trio's visit to the Embassy by two days. __Only minutes after the previous photographs were taken, I came across Commander Shepard by herself when on business and managed to take this interview._"

The footage this time was of a flashy, neon-lit place, resemblant of a bar, and clearly for entertainment.

_Business, huh?_

The screen soon caught a passing Commander Shepard.

She was called over, and the very sound of the reporter's voice seemed to be familiar as she clenched her eyes shut and sighed, much to the crew's amusement. Then Shepard approached, and halted with her arms crossed, staring deadpan at the reporter behind the camera.

"_Sources claim you were at the heart of the Presidium during the Battle of the Citadel. It's fair to say the course of the battle hinged on your words._"

Shepard looked around, bored and drumming fingers on her arm. Some of the crew chuckled.

"_If true, you told Admiral Hackett to assist the Destiny Ascension, costing hundreds of human lives and securing the continued dominance of the Citadel Council._"

Suddenly, her head snapped to the reporter, and a stern, heart-stilling frown wrought Shepard's face, and she uncrossed her arms.

"Oooh, snap!" Joker grinned eagerly. "She's done it now!"

Shepard's words were firm. "_The turians lost twenty cruisers, each had a crew of around three-hundred. The Destiny Ascension, which human lives were lost trying to save, alone had a crew of nearly ten-thousand._"

"_But surely the human cost–_" the reporter tried.

"_The Alliance lost eight cruisers. Shenyang. Emden. Jakarto. Cairo. Seoul. Cape Town. Warsaw. Madrid – and _yes,_ I remember them all._"

The crew nodded approvingly, smiling, all humans looking on with pride.

But the Courier's looked at her with understanding, though it was hidden.

"_Everyone in the fifth fleet is a hero. The Alliance owes them all medals. The Council owes them a lot more than that._" The Commander looked the reporter up and down with a sneer unrestrained. "_And so do you._"

Shepard strode off to the hoots of approval from the Normandy crew.

"_Commander Jane Shepard, first human Spectre, hero of the Battle of the Citadel,_" the reporter finished.

The crew gushed admiration for their commanding officer before the report from Westerlund News even ended, immediately discussing and praising the woman, almost religiously to his shock.

Feeling out of place, he stepped away from the crowd into relative silence by the medbay door, contemplating on what he had seen.

Karin noticed, and approached him carefully.

"_**Was she always that way?**_"

"What do you mean?"

"_**...She said she remembered them all.**_"

The doctor shook her head. "I don't understand."

The Courier had seen more in Shepard's eyes and heard more in her voice than her words ever told aloud as she spoke the names of those eight cruisers, like a eulogy seared into the wrinkles of her cortex.

He knew that there was more to the pain in her eyes than the death she suffered two years ago. There was the life before it, too.

"_**She never forgets,**_**" **the Courier said.** "**_**Does she?**_"

Karin's face fell. "No. She doesn't."

* * *

"It was... for the goo-_HURGH!_" Blue blood rising in his throat like bile was hurled out of the spout of Kuril's mandibled maw, spilling onto the blood-stained floor.

"The good of the galaxy," Shepard finished breathily. "You said that."

Gunfire from Garrus' Viper and Zaeed's Mattock sounded behind her as they took down Blue Sun stragglers and the final YMIR.

"Sell me and live like a king, isn't that _exactly_ what you said?"

Kuril tried to crawl away, shaking his head. He couldn't believe it was happening, that this was the end.

That disbelief elated her sadism. Shepard strode slow, and trained her Carnifex at his arm, in case he tried to reach for a weapon.

"This for the good of the galaxy? Some slick maneuvering that never in a hundred _fucking _years would've worked!? Your greed's gonna save us, if we just _satisfy it_!? Is it gonna stop the Collectors?! Is it gonna stop all the bloodshed, all the nightmares, the ticking!? You gonna save us all!?"

The Warden's loud delusions of having betrayed her for the good of the galaxy were nowhere to be heard anymore – his insanity replaced with fear, the kind that drove you grunting on the ground like an animal, desperate to crawl away.

The pathetic sight inflamed Shepard's rage, a scowl marring her scarred face further. She swung a harsh kick at his ribs. "You son of a _bitch_!"

He grunted, and the force knocked him onto his back. Blue wept from the holes where her Mattock caught him.

Shepard looked down at his fearful face, and loved it. She kneeled, wrapped a hand about his blood-welling throat, and savored it. But her rage welled inevitably. "What the fuck would you know? You never lost a night's sleep over it, wondering what the hell you were doing. Never sacrificed a single soldier you cared about to save it," she growled. "'Good of the galaxy'?"

His eyes widened more than she knew a turian's could when her omni-blade unfurled.

And she stuck the searing edge deep into his gut. The smell was one of the worst things she'd smelled, but the agony in his eyes made it worth suffering.

"You can't even be honest with what you are! I _died_ for the galaxy – what the fuck gives you the right to claim you're saving it!?"

He could only answer with his blood.

"ANSWER!" Her twist wrenched a curdled cry from him, and she cherished his look of pure, utter horror. "You fucking deserve this!"

The pulsing of his filled throat on her palm, the writhing of his limbs as she moved her arm and slowly burned through his flesh – it was catharthis for all the hate and rage she felt of his betrayal. This fucking scumbag.

She almost regretted the light leaving his eyes so soon. Until it did, then she regretted ever coming here. Because the realization of what she had done struck her like a hammer to the chest.

Shepard pushed herself up, stood with blue blood dripping down her armor and guts slipping off her leg.

She gaped at the butchered Warden Kuril – the wide, lifeless eyes, the maw open in a silent scream, and his intestines a gory mess on the floor.

She didn't feel sick.

The first time she ever killed someone, it was out of maddening rage, for revenge. But the moment adrenaline left her system, Shepard was blinded by tears and vomited everything she had in her stomach onto the floor, and then she heaved, and heaved, until she felt like she'd puke out her guts.

Now she'd gutted a man and spilled his intestines on her, and she didn't feel a thing about it but regret that she didn't feel any better.

"All clear!" came Garrus' voice. "How are we doing?"

"I'm good!" Zaeed called.

"Shepard?"

The steps that approached her from behind were the weighty feet of an armored turian, and they slowed to a cautious crawl, before stopping.

It was silent for a while. Garrus was still processing.

"Spirits..."

"He deserved this." She knew he did.

But she didn't feel like something went right. Only like she did something wrong.

Jane wished they were still on the ship, with her insulting his "singing". That was so much simpler.

"He did..." Garrus said. "You alright?"

She didn't have the composure to hide her surprise when she looked at him. "Yeah."

Garrus nodded. "Good. That's all that matters."

She couldn't believe it sometimes.

Shepard didn't deserve her friends, but god if she wasn't glad she had them.

"What the bloody hell happened here?" Zaeed said, suddenly there.

What did just happen?

Rage? Revenge?

For what? Kuril was just another dumb-fuck merc who got greedy. But unlike all the other ones, his guts were cooked and splayed out, and his face wasn't twisted in agony cut short, just agony. She'd made a gory grotesquerie of him.

"I don't know."

Shepard took a breath, and training kicked in.

She smothered the horrible feeling inside. They were still deep in enemy territory.

"Doesn't matter, we've got our objective, and she's still out there. Fall in."

"Roger," Garrus said.

They continued in silence through the holes Jack had punched in the ship, amazed at the pure power of the biotic.

When Shepard found her in the docks, she was pacing and raging at the sight of the Normandy. Either she wasn't a fan of Shepard, or that Cerberus logo flicked a switch.

Then suddenly, movement.

Before anyone else managed to, Shepard caught blue movement, and her Carnifex let off a round before Jack could so much as blink at the Blue Sun running at her.

The tattooed woman spun around surprised as Shepard lowered the gun and let it fold on her hip.

"What the hell do you want?" Jack barked aggressively.

Shepard frowned. Great. "You."

"You looking for a fuck, is that it?"

"Not exactly."

"Charming, this one," Garrus muttered.

A scowl furrowed the bald woman's features, "Bite me!"

"Don't tempt him, you won't survive it," Shepard deadpanned. "Look, I came to get you out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You're with Cerberus."

Jane glared. "I got Cerberus colors on my ship, and I use Cerberus money to get what I want, but I am _not_ Cerberus."

"You expect me to believe that? They've been hunting my ass for years. It's why Kuril thought he struck gold with me." Jack looked her up and down, and said to the smear across her, "How's that working out for you, Warden?"

Fuck.

This bitch saw what she did. Jane only hoped she hadn't heard.

"If I wanted to bring them your corpse, I'd have let that bullet fly at you, not your friend."

"Then they want me alive. What, you think I'm stupid?"

She resisted the urge. "The ship full of rampaging psychopaths is going down in flames, and you're arguing with the only way off. You don't wanna hear my answer to that, so let's cut the shit. What's it gonna take?"

Jack's scowl softened with interest. "I bet your ship's got lots of Cerberus databases. I want to look at those files, see what Cerberus has got on me."

"Deal."

The biotic was surprised, but it was ousted by suspicion. "You better be straight up with me," she growled, leaning in close.

Shepard's speed surprised Jack, as she was suddenly up in her face. "And you better cut the attitude before you piss me off like the Warden did! You'll get what you want, so _shut the fuck up_ and move out!"

She stomped past the stunned biotic and didn't look back to see if she followed.

Jane was sure it was Garrus walking beside her trying to talk to her, but she couldn't hear anything but the sound that never stopped since she woke up on Lazarus Station.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick._

* * *

**I considered something as I reread this.**

**It may just be me overthinking this whole chapter, putting too much weight on it and worrying more about it than it is worth.**

**But, again, your reviews will help me find out what's what.**

**And regardless, experience will also have to help me with these things as I learn during this fic's course, since I'm still improving my writing and learning story-telling, believe it or not.**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter.**

**P.S.: I hate that I get so many interesting and/or kind reviews and barely ever answer any questions from them or respond to a comment in them. I always end up remembering after I upload, but even now as I remember writing this, I just want to get this chapter out, and I'm too tired to go through them. So the responses will come when I've rested, perhaps taken a few days off from writing to cool off from the stress of this chapter. **

**After that, even if I have to postpone the chapter by a day, I will reread through and answer each review of the latest chapter before uploading the new one.**


End file.
